


Regression Analysis

by Finely Honed (jaqen_hgar)



Series: дезинформация [20]
Category: Captain America (Movies), Iron Man (Movies), Marvel Cinematic Universe, The Avengers (Marvel Movies)
Genre: Age Regression/De-Aging, Angst and Humor, Angst with a Happy Ending, Bruce Banner & Tony Stark Friendship, Bruce Is a Good Bro, Bucky Barnes Needs a Hug, Canon-Typical Violence, Childhood Memories, Domestic Avengers, Emotional Hurt/Comfort, Frottage, Howard Stark's Bad Parenting, M/M, Oral Sex, Parent Tony Stark, Past Alcohol Abuse/Alcoholism, Science Bros, Secret Relationship, Steve Rogers Needs a Hug, Tony Feels, Tony Is Here To Science, Tony Stark Has Daddy Issues, Tony Stark Hates Magic, Unrequited Love
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2015-02-03
Updated: 2015-05-09
Packaged: 2018-03-10 07:58:05
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 18
Words: 64,635
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/3282824
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/jaqen_hgar/pseuds/Finely%20Honed
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>His heart was still lurching around his chest in alarm, and it was taking every bit of his self restraint to keep himself from tearing at James’s uniform, stripping him down in order to look him over, every last little bit of him. He seemed unharmed, but as far as explosions went, this one had been magic. And magic could most definitely go fuck itself.</p><p> <br/><em>Takes place somewhere between <em>Until</em> and <em>Operation Iron Snuggle</em>.</em></p>
            </blockquote>





	1. Chapter 1

**Author's Note:**

> This is a story about healing emotional wounds, and as a result, it gets very, very feels-heavy. I promise you, this isn't just self indulgence. Tony has a lot of childhood issues ( _in my mind, in my universe_ ) that he'll be working through as a result of what has happened. Steve is also healing, and by the end of this emotional roller-coaster, everyone will be in a much better place. Promise. ;)

“This—this right here?—this is why magic can just go fuck itself!”

“Watch the language,” Bucky snapped, glaring daggers at Tony, his hands automatically clamping down over little ears, as if to protect them.

Tony could only gape, his rage momentarily taking a backseat to his incredulity. “Are you serious? James! If there was ever a time to use profanity…”

“Not in front of the kid.” And the worst part was, he was dead serious. “That goes for the rest of you, too.”

Those baby blues of his were flashing angrily, his jaw was clenched, and he’d slipped into Russian, all calm, controlled, and ( _unfortunately_ ) incredibly, distractingly sexy. Of course, that might have  _also_  been because Tony was still keyed up from the battle itself, and the overwhelming relief that the psychedelic looking explosion that’d gone off  _hadn’t_  actually obliterated two of the most important people in the world to him.

His heart was still lurching around his chest in alarm, and it was taking every bit of his self restraint to keep himself from tearing at James’s uniform, stripping him down in order to look him over, every last little bit of him. He  _seemed_  unharmed, but as far as explosions went, this one had been magic. And magic could most definitely go fuck itself.

“I shall seek out my brother,” Thor suggested somberly, “though I cannot be certain he will reverse what has been done, even if it is within his ability to do so. His sense of humor is… peculiar.”

“Is that what we’re calling crazy now?” Clint muttered, adding, “What? Like he isn’t?” in his own defense when everyone glared at him.

“Thanks, Thor,” James said, “that’d be great.” 

And something in his voice, or in the way he said it made Tony’s stomach lurch, reminded him of why he’d been about to go on a tirade to begin with.

“Right, for a start, maybe let’s get him the f…” James’s eyes narrowed and Tony winced, “ _erm_ , out of here?” He sighed, began rubbing his temples, because he was  _so over this_ already, it wasn’t even funny.

“Thor, talk to Loki,” James ordered, “Iron Man, get as much data as possible from the scene, we might need it. Widow, see about the Hulk—I’ll need Bruce with me—then provide backup for Iron Man. Hawkeye, coordinate with Coulson, then do the same. Let’s wrap it up and get out of here, people.”

Tony blinked and bit back his natural response, which was another string of profanity, because… well…

“Hey, uh, can I talk to you first, for like two seconds?”

James frowned as he shifted his grip on the child in his arms. For a long, agonizing moment, Tony thought he was going to get shot down, but James nodded, and with the teary-eyed kid now balanced on his hip, walked a few paces away so they could talk in relative privacy.

“You okay?” he asked softly, studying James’s face.

“Don’t have time not to be,” he answered, but some of the cold professionalism had left his voice. That was  _something_ , at least.

“This isn’t one of those body swap, mind meld things, is it?” James snorted at this, and Tony really, really wanted to kiss him. “Good, great. Get him out of here, we’ll see you back at the Tower.”

A tiny fist banged against the armor, dragging Tony’s attention away from James and sure enough, there was that bottom dropping out sensation again. Big, blue, watery eyes looked up at him in utter fascination, and Tony only just caught himself before slamming down the faceplate in order to avoid the eye contact altogether.

Instead, he swallowed past his growing panic, and refocused on James. “It would be bad, if this got out.”

“I know.” James jerked his head in the direction of the crater the magical explosion had left in its wake. “Get to work.”

Tony did as he was told, but once he was hidden safely behind the faceplate said to JARVIS, “I don’t think I’ve ever wanted a drink more than right now.” And although he was facing the opposite direction, Tony watched via the suit as, behind him, James stooped to pick up the discarded, now too-big clothing, and Captain America’s shield. “Make that drinks, plural.”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I couldn't resist!!! It is SO TROPE-TASTIC... but baby Steve! I mean... Can you blame me?
> 
> Chapters should arrive on a weekly basis, likely posted on Mondays.


	2. Chapter 2

Although it was ridiculous to hope he could ever be so lucky, Tony was half expecting that by the time they got home they’d find Steve waiting for them, having somehow ( _magically? ha!_ ) reverted to his normal size, and age, and everything else.

Of course, that wasn’t how his life worked, so Steve was still a baby—or maybe toddler was a better term? Kids under a certain age all looked the same to Tony. There was no real point in sweating the terminology anyway, because it all boiled down to the same thing: Captain America was tiny, vulnerable, and terrifying.

Bruce was in the middle of taking some sort of non-invasive body scan on his new patient while James hovered nearby, his face eerily blank as he kept hold of a miserable Steve, as if worried he intended to throw himself off the exam table in an attempt to escape.

Steve’s blond hair was sticking up all crazily atop his head as if he’d been trying to pull it out to better express how much he did not enjoy what was happening. And just in case it wasn’t perfectly clear that Steve was over it, he was also crying. These weren’t your typical upset baby tears, they were painfully miserable sounding, high pitched, choked off sobs with hiccups, his face a very unflattering bright red, tiny fists balled.

The sound cut right through everything, and left Tony grimacing in equal parts discomfort and annoyance.

"Where’s the volume knob on that thing?"

And then the strangest thing happened—Steve stopped crying. Just like that, the wailing came to an abrupt halt, his miserable expression shifting ( _to delight?_ ) as he caught sight of Tony approaching. A chirpy sort of anxious happy noise followed, along with flailing arms.

"Finally," James snapped, and gestured for Tony to join them. When Tony hesitated, feet already deciding he should back out of Bruce’s lab instead, James gave him a, "don’t you fucking dare," look.

"Hey," Bruce said, smiling wanly as Tony sidled up. He gestured to their little bundle of definitely not joy, and Tony eyeballed Steve for a moment ( _long enough to notice he was now wearing one of Natasha’s tiny tank tops like it was a dress_ ) before Bruce added, “So, this is weird.”

"You can say that again."

He was doing his best to stay clear of the chubby little hands reaching for him, pointedly ignoring little not-Steve’s increasingly urgent babbling. Easier to focus on the data streaming across Bruce’s displays. Data was comforting.

"So what’s the deal, Brucie-bear? How do we get the shrinky dink here back to a regulation sized super soldier?"

If the tone shift in the baby-speak was any indication, the kid had figured out Tony was ignoring him and disapproved. He wasn’t the only one, either.

"Tony," James was using his ‘serious’ voice, was all tight jaw and narrowed eyes when Tony finally managed to make himself look up from the monitors. As he watched, James covered Steve’s ears, which was kind of unnecessary since he only mouthed the next bit. "Pick him the fuck up already."

Like it was that simple. Tony pulled a face, shoving his hands into his pockets. “I’m here to science, not babysit.”

He shouldn’t have been surprised by the shocked disappointment, but it still made him uncomfortable watching the disbelief spread across James’s face before he got himself under control, and returned to his previous state of blankness. Tony wasn’t sure he’d ever actually seen James wearing that particular expression before,and definitely not because of him.

"I don’t do kids." It sounded weak and defensive and petulant even to him.

James was visibly counting down from ten in his head, Tony could all but see the numbers in his eyes. He was suspiciously flat sounding when he spoke again.

"It’s not some kid. It’s Steve."

And apparently that should have been enough, was clearly more than enough for James. He kept staring at Tony, obviously waiting ( _expecting_ ) for him to get over himself. Tony looked away, hating himself, angry with James for putting him on the spot ( _which wasn’t fair, none of this was James’s fault_ ), annoyed that Bruce was just standing there watching this unfold ( _though how could you blame him?_ ).

Mostly he was furious with Steve fucking Rogers for managing to land himself in the middle of a magical explosion in the first place.

Steve seemed equally pissed off the longer Tony made no move towards picking him up and comforting him. Which, yes, okay, he was willing to concede that it _should_ be simple, or _could_ be for some people, maybe, but not for him.

He didn’t “do kids” for the good of the human race, because he should not be trusted with tiny humans. He had a corrupt fucking algorithm in his head—recursion at its _worst_ —everything currently leading back to that drink he couldn’t have _._

Tony had managed to ( _mostly_ ) ignore it while following orders and gathering data at the scene, had drowned it out by sharing nervous bickering with Clint during the ride home, but it was like baby Steve’s shrieking had caused an avalanche in his mind. Whoosh, there went the defenses, tumbling down around him like a house of cards. Now it felt like every nerve ending in his body was raw, and exposed, and _demanding_.

_Just one would be okay._

_Just a taste._

_Special exception, right?_

He ran a hand over his face, not caring that they’d see it shaking now that it wasn’t tucked away in his pocket. It’d been awhile since he’d felt the need so strongly, and Tony hated how very much he wanted to cave in.

What sucked was that he should be able to have a drink ( _he’d drank and kept it under control for years, hadn’t he?_ ) on a shitty day without it being a big deal. It sounded so reasonable, so tempting, and innocuous, except he knew, he fucking _knew_ it wouldn’t be one, because it was _never_ just one.

And if he caved in and picked that crutch back up, it’d be that much harder to stand on his own on the next bad day. Or even a good day for that matter, because sometimes nothing was horribly wrong in his life and he _still_ felt like he needed a drink the way normal people needed food, or sleep, or air.

There was only so much he could deal with at once, and ignoring the siren song of the bottle had to be his top priority, because everything else hinged on him staying sober. What was the point in making it worse by sticking around so James could look at him like he was a monster for not picking up the kid?

"Bruce, you got this?" he asked softly. Bruce nodded, eyes wide with concern, although at that particular moment, it felt a lot more like judgement. "I’ll be in the workshop."

He spun on his heels, his pace increasing ( _run away, coward!_ ) the closer he got to the doors, trying to ignore the waves of panic rushing through him in response to James’s hollowed out and betrayed sounding cry of, “Antoshka!”

As if adding in his own two cents, Steve began screaming his head off again, the sound thankfully cut short when the doors slid shut behind him.

It was stupid, it was just some magic, would probably wear off in a day or two, and then Steve ( _and his fucking life_ ) would be back to normal again. Everyone would give him shit for being such a… well, baby, and they’d all laugh about it.

Except, the rest of his brain had already spun off into What If Land, and it was killing him. What if it didn’t just wear off? What if Steve grew in real time? There was no way James wasn’t going to step right into the role of father—he’d more or less done that already. He’d probably be good at it, too; he had the protective thing down pat.

What if when ( _if_ ) Steve was back to normal, the exposure to his little-self was still enough to have activated James’s dormant paternal instincts, made him realize he wanted that sort of family after all? Pepper had wanted kids and it’d always been there, a black little wedge between them.

He wanted to spend whatever was left of his life with James, but he absolutely, positively, did not want a kid, even if that kid was Steve. _Especially_ if that kid was Steve. And if Steve’s transformation was permanent, there was no way in hell James was letting anyone else raise him. Which meant he was more or less fucked six ways to Sunday if they didn’t find a way to hit undo on the whole magical age regression thing.

That also rankled. How ridiculously unfair was his life that he even had to _think_ the words ‘magical age regression’ let alone deal with the ramifications of something like that interrupting a perfectly good Tuesday afternoon? It wasn’t the sort of thing he’d ever prepared for, because—hello!—aging tended to work just in the one direction.

He certainly hadn’t been prepared for his own downward spiral of a reaction, that was for sure. He doubted Steve’s situation felt like a death sentence to the rest of the team.

If he was being honest, though, it wasn’t just the kid thing. It was a Steve thing, a Captain America thing, in ways he couldn’t quite quantify.

It was Howard, crowing with delight somewhere in the back of his mind.

By the time the elevator doors slid open, his hands were _really_ shaking, his mouth was painfully dry, and his vision was going a bit wonky at the edges thanks to the hyperventilating he’d been doing.

Considering how shitty his day was turning out, it figured a panic attack would factor in next. He practically ran over to the couch, dropped down onto it, and tried to focus first on getting his breathing back under control, trying to push away the fear, and anxiety, reminding himself that he wasn’t _actually_ having a heart attack.

Working on autopilot, he fished his hand under the couch and felt around until he came away with a half empty bottle of scotch. It had been more than a year since it had rolled under there, and although he’d never bothered to fish it out, he’d never forgotten it was there, either. Tony suspected that wasn’t exactly _good_ , but he’d yet to open it, so that was at least one point in the win column.

He wasn’t going to open it now, no matter how much he wanted to. He just needed to wrap his hands around the comforting shape of the bottle while reminding himself that he didn’t need to rely on it anymore. Holding, seeing, smelling the bottle was somehow easier, actually helped with the urge. It was just a bottle, and nothing more, he’d gone up against tougher and survived.

"Sir," and JARVIS’s tone was so very careful that it just pushed him right over the edge. He gave up and let himself cry ( _quietly, just like when he’d been little, because the only thing worse than crying was when his father caught him doing it_ ), hot tears sliding down his face.

"S’okay, _fuck_ , I’m not. I won’t, J. I promise. I _want_ to, but I won’t.” Tony exhaled shakily, breath catching in his chest. In through the nose, out through the mouth, slow, slow, _slow_.

After the worst of it had passed, he managed to speak again, blurted, “I really pissed him off.”

"I believe he is more concerned than anything. Sir, it is worth noting,” and JARVIS sounded oddly hesitant here, "according to his vitals, since the incident, Master Barnes has also been experiencing high levels of stress, fear, and anxiety."

Tony swallowed around the lump in his throat. He could read between the lines—JARVIS was trying to tell him that James needed him, that they should be facing this together. They were supposed to have each other’s backs, but Tony had run away. Had left James calling after him for help. _James_ , who had never once left him in the lurch, or asked anything of him, even on his worst day.

James had been right at the edge of the explosion ( _he could still hear him screaming Steve’s name_ ), reaching for him only to be blown back several feet. James was the one to crawl into the crater before Tony’s eyes even had time to adjust to the aftermath of the psychedelic light show, and so he had been the first to find what was left of Captain America.

Steve might not be dead, but he wasn’t exactly there, either, and so really, James had just lost his best friend, his brother. And when he’d needed Tony the most, needed to be able to count on him, Tony had run away to wallow in his own bullshit, and left James to deal with everything all alone.

"Are they still in the lab?" He swiped at his face, pushing aside the tears, shoving the bottle back under the couch before standing.

"Yes. I’m afraid Captain Rogers has also been highly distressed since your hasty departure."

Like it or not, Tony knew what he had to do. “Suck it up, Stark.”

This time, he forced himself to focus on Steve as he pushed his way back into the lab in a rush, stalked right over to him ( _hey, and he’d stopped crying again_ ), picked him up like he was a hornet’s nest, and asked Bruce, “Is he still rocking the serum?”

Steve burbled happily, chubby little hands grasping at Tony’s arms as if his life depended on it, which was just plain _weird_. The squirming made Tony nervous ( _James would kill him if he dropped Steve, serum or no_ ), so he swallowed past his dread, and shifted his grip so that Steve was resting against his chest.

"All signs point to yes," Bruce confirmed, mouth pressed into a thin line as the baby super soldier snuggled up to Tony.

A tiny hand smacked against the arc reactor, and it took every ounce of his willpower not to give into his urge let go, dump the kid back onto the exam table, and run away again.

"Okay, so he’s probably starving."

Taking a deep, fortifying breath, Tony finally faced James, and winced at the hurt on display in his blue eyes. Now that he was actually letting himself see what was there, it was fairly obvious that James was only just managing to keep it together.

"I’m sorry, James, so _fu_ …” he caught himself, swallowed around the profanity, and started again. “Really, _really_ sorry.”

Steve let loose with another round of baby-talk, this time alarmingly serious sounding, a string of syllables and noises that Tony interpreted as, “I think you owe me an apology as well, Tony.”

“Yeah, well, this is all _your_ fault, so don’t push your luck,” he grumbled, glaring at the baby he was holding. Steve swung a chubby little hand and scored a direct hit to Tony’s nose, chattering away indignantly. “Ow! Point taken, _sorry_. I hereby formally concede that you didn’t wake up this morning planning to end your day as a baby.”

Solemn, ridiculously large blue eyes looked up at him almost victoriously, and Tony found himself unable to look away now that he’d been sucked in. “You were probably too wrapped up in screaming your head off to notice, but I’m kind of having a nervous breakdown at the moment, so maybe cut me some slack, Steve.”

Steve pushed out his lower lip, and this time his little noises sounded curiously understanding and sympathetic to Tony’s ears. He flailed again, and Tony nodded. “Let’s just say today is not a good day to be an alcoholic, panic attack prone, self-absorbed jerk with daddy issues.”

He sighed, shifting Steve’s weight to his hip. Steve might have been smaller, but he wasn’t exactly a lightweight. “Do me a favor and give me a heads up if you feel any sudden growth spurts coming on. The press’ll have a fucking field day if Iron Man is crushed to death by a half-naked Captain America.”

A little hand smacked him in the mouth, and Tony rolled his eyes, prepared to defend his foul language to their little fearless leader right up until he realized that Bruce and James were staring at him. Like, _staring_ , staring. James was staring hard enough that it almost looked like he’d forgotten all about Tony letting him down. Almost.

"Are you two done?" he asked, and that was his battlefield voice, all cool professionalism.

Tony swallowed around the lump in his throat. “James…”

"Later. At least you’re here now," he interrupted, cutting Tony’s second attempt at apologizing short. "Bruce, what can we feed him?"

"Well, he has teeth, and seems to be at least a year old. Start with foods he likes, avoid too much spice, break everything up enough to prevent choking, and you should be fine."

James nodded his thanks and stalked out of the room, leaving Tony scrambling to keep up.

"Okay, then I guess we see if I can avoid having a panic attack while baby-proofing a breakfast burrito for Captain America."

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Tony is sort of all over the place, poor guy. He also speaks Baby! Or... baby Steve, at least.


	3. Chapter 3

Tony hadn’t exactly expected James to warm up once they were in the elevator, but he’d hoped at least for another opportunity to apologize.

“Look, the way I handled that earlier…”

“Not now,” James interrupted, jabbing at the elevator buttons as if that would make things move faster some how. He must have sensed Tony staring at him, because he squeezed his eyes shut and added quietly in Russian, “Not in front of Stevie.”

“Oh.” That could only mean he was in for it once they were alone, whenever that was. “Right, sorry.”

Tony glanced at his reflection in the mirrored walls of the elevator, and suddenly felt every last minute of his age. Anyone paying even a little attention would figure out he’d been crying, could spot the exhaustion, the tension. By contrast, Steve somehow managed to look baby fresh and ( _he was loathe to admit_ ) kind of cute, his tears long gone, his eyes wide and curious.

"At least my hands stopped shaking," he muttered to himself. Steve's answer was, "ba ba ba," and Tony had to agree. The comfort of the bottle always  _sounded_  like a great idea, but it was a lie. "Yeah, I know. Doesn't make it any easier, though."

James was using the mirrored walls to watch him ( _them_ ), hair hanging down over his face, still wearing his uniform, the contrast of the black smudges around his bright eyes somehow making them appear wild. He looked lost, and alone, and so Tony reached for him, grabbed his hand and squeezed. For a long, awful moment, James just stood there breathing hard, but he must have sensed the desolation, the sinking pit of shame and self loathing threatening to swallow Tony whole, because he finally linked his fingers with Tony's and squeezed back.

Even though his pronunciation was laughable, Tony switched to Russian, saying, "We'll get him back, James."

"You don't know that," James growled, squeezing Tony's hand harder. "Antoshka, what if..."

James was trembling with anger, or sorrow, and Tony couldn't let him keep talking, he had to step closer, kiss him, an insistent press of lips intended to silence him. James took hold of Tony's arms, pulling him closer, his grip painfully tight as he kissed back, desperate but passionless.

"I’m sorry," Tony babbled, "I love you so much," and, "I'll fix it, I'll find a way to fix it," said it all in a hot rush against James's lips, the Russian making his tongue feel heavy and uncomfortable in his mouth.

Smooshed between them, Steve squealed indignantly, little legs kicking out as if to remind them they weren’t alone. James pushed himself away as the elevator doors slid open, but didn’t let go as his hard won mask of composure momentarily cracked wide open. Tony felt like an asshole all over again.

James’s nostrils flared as he reined himself back in, his fingers digging painfully into Tony’s arms as he blinked and held on tightly. He hadn’t wanted to put off talking in order to  _yell_  at Tony; he was only just holding on himself, and didn’t want to lose control for fear of being unable to get it back again.

Before his eyes, James disappeared, dug somewhere deep inside of himself, found that cold detachment that screamed Winter Soldier to Tony, and sank right down into it. Images from HYDRA’s files flashed through Tony’s mind ( _the chair, the cryochamber_ ) as James straightened himself up, posture rigid, militaristic, closed his eyes, and when he opened them again, there was  _nothing_.

Tony nodded, unable to think of a better response, stepped aside so James could exit the elevator. He knew all about hiding, usually did it in the armor, or the workshop, or at the bottom of a bottle, but James didn’t need any of that, he could hide away within himself.

Steve seemed concerned with what had transpired, a chubby hand scratching at Tony's beard as he looked up at him, that ‘Captain America needs to have words with Iron Man’ expression on his face.

“Oh yeah? Well, you look like an idiot in that tank top,” Tony snapped.

Ignoring Steve’s retort, Tony sucked it up and exited the elevator, forcing a bravado he didn’t feel as he made his entrance. Whatever Clint had been saying to Natasha trailed off into nothingness as soon as he swooped into the room.

“Okay, I’ve seen some scary shit in my time, but Tony Stark with Baby Rogers takes the cake.”

“Language, Barton,” Tony scolded, ignoring Steve’s burble ( _yes, he was a hypocrite, but he’d earned his right to profanity, thank you very much_ ). “Actually, here you go big mouth, have a baby,” he decided, plonking Steve down on Clint’s lap as he continued onward to the kitchen. “Consider it an early birthday present.”

“Uh…”

Tony kept on walking, even as Steve chimed in with what he thought of this particular development.

When he entered the kitchen he found James already chopping up some leftover chicken, so Tony grabbed a banana and started slicing that up.

“JARVIS, give Pepper the  _Cliff’s Notes_  version of what’s going on, see if she can rustle up some clothes, and diapers, and… I don’t know, whatever it is babies need to survive.”

“Of course, sir.”

"Don't mention Steve by name. This stays in the Tower."

He could actually hear James having a physical response to the request, the leather of his uniform creaking ominously as his muscles tensed. Softly, he added, “We don’t know how long he’s going to be stuck like this.”

“I know.”

Tony chewed on his lower lip, biting back the flood of words he wanted to vomit. Not the time. Not the place. As if to reinforce this notion, Steve was crying again, the sound like knives in Tony’s brain. Beside him, James’s grip on the knife tightened dangerously, the blade flashing where it caught the light. Tony could all too easily imagine James burying it in the cutting board in frustration.

“Tony!” Clint yelled, but he’d already thrown down the banana in defeat, and was storming out of the kitchen.

Natasha was bouncing Steve up and down in her arms, but he was once again all red in the face, screaming his head off. Clint was wincing, hands over his ears, and had never looked more relieved to see Tony.

“What did you do to him?”

Just like before, Steve’s sobs subsided at the sound of Tony’s voice, so that Clint’s defensive response of, “Nothing!” sounded unnecessarily loud.

Natasha arched an eyebrow as she looked between Steve and Tony. “He got fussy as soon as you left,” she explained.

“Onn onn onn,” Steve wailed, making little grabby hands in Tony’s direction, his lower lip sticking out pathetically.

“Seriously?” Tony folded his arms, leaned over so that he was face to face with Steve. “I’m making you lunch, ingrate.” Steve stared at him, as if to say, “we both know you’re not cooking anything in there,” so he clarified with, “I’m  _helping_. You can help by being a chill little capsicle.”

He managed to take two steps back towards the kitchen before Steve called after him, all pathetic and woeful, and Tony caved. If his choice was between a screaming kid, and carrying around a complacent kid, he’d take the latter.

“Add one of those stupid baby strap on whatevers to the list, J.” If Steve was going to keep this shit up, he’d need to find some way to have his hands free.

“Please,  _please_ , never say ‘baby strap-on’ ever again,” Clint begged, his face scrunched up in disgust. “I think I threw up in my mouth.” Natasha gave him a smack to the back of the head, which earned her a noise of approval from Steve.

“I believe sir was referring to a BabyBjörn,” JARVIS explained helpfully. “Ms. Potts-Hogan should be by shortly with supplies.”

“I hope the supplies include pants,” Clint grumbled, rubbing the back of his head.

Tony rolled his eyes over Steve’s protest. “Sorry buddy, I’m on Clint’s side. Pants are mandatory. If Thor has to wear them, so do you.”

Which led him to suddenly wonder how long it had been since Steve had gone to the bathroom. They didn’t exactly have diapers lying around the place, so it was entirely possible the little guy was ready to burst. He should probably be grateful he hadn’t been peed on yet.

With a world weary sigh, Tony headed for the closest bathroom with Steve tucked under an arm, wondering how the hell this was supposed to work.

“Believe me, this is much weirder for me than it is for you,” he explained as he pulled off the tank top and held Steve over the toilet. “If you have to take a piss, now’s your chance.”

Steve burbled and wriggled, so Tony turned on the faucet, then put him back in place and waited, eyes averted. “This has to be some sort of awful karmic payback,” he grumbled. “I’m sure it’s my fault, and you’re collateral damage somehow. Magic can suck it _._ ”

In a show of solidarity, Steve chose that moment to begin emptying his bladder.

By the time they'd finished up and he'd wrestled Steve back into the tank top ( _he'd knotted up the extra fabric so it was now more a onesie than a dress_ ) James had finished assembling food and was waiting for them, the plate on the floor since they didn't have a high chair.

Steve showed his appreciation by immediately shoving a handful of chicken into his mouth, chewing enthusiastically while Tony watched to make sure he didn't manage to choke on anything.

"The banana was my contribution," Tony pointed out, tapping a finger near the fruit, and Steve grabbed a slice, making happy little noises as he squished banana between his fingers before licking it out of his hand.

Tony was so absorbed in watching for signs of imminent death that it took a couple minutes before he realized everyone else was staring at him. Again. " _What?_ "

James folded his arms across his chest, and shared a look with Natasha. He had the distinct impression that they were judging him for some reason or other.

"Do we know if his mind actually regressed along with his body?"

Tony opened his mouth to answer, but let it fall shut again. Natasha's question was a good one; it should have occurred to him to ask Bruce, but he’d been too busy freaking out to give it much thought. Tony had just assumed it'd been a package deal, that maybe there were some lingering impressions left behind—"These weirdos in costumes are my friends," for example—but that otherwise he was just a baby.

"Steve, if you have adult thoughts trapped in a baby brain, throw a piece of chicken at Clint." Blue eyes stared at him as if he was a moron. “Or not.” Steve grabbed more chicken, but shoved it in his mouth instead. “Well, there you have it. We’ll get Bruce to weigh in on this one, me thinks.”

Natasha continued staring, the scrutiny making Tony once again hyper aware of how much he wanted a drink. Surprisingly, once he'd actually tackled the whole baby issue head on, the need had been sublimated by the strangeness that was Steve, and overwhelming concern for James. In fact, if he could manage to keep Steve from screaming bloody murder, it would be good to get James alone sooner than later, get him out of the headspace he was currently in. Try to find a way to make up for leaving him high and dry.

As if sensing his stress ratcheting up again, Steve offered Tony a piece of banana, which he accepted absentmindedly, popping it in his mouth. As soon as he swallowed, his stomach growled loudly, the introduction of food having woken it from its dormant state.

"I'm going to make myself a sandwich," Tony announced, staring pointedly at Steve. "Think you can handle me leaving the room for a couple minutes without bursting everyone's eardrums?"

Steve smacked his hand against the plate and let loose with a string of baby speak. "Alright, I'm holding you to that," Tony answered, getting to his feet. "We're gonna have words if you change your mind and start screaming."

"Go already," Steve seemed to say, so Tony got while the getting was good, slathering some peanut butter and jelly onto bread once he was in the kitchen.

He didn't hear Natasha come in behind him, so when he turned around and discovered he was no longer alone, he wound up dropping the sandwich in surprise. He made a point of glaring as he retrieved it and took a huge bite. "I've already had one panic attack today,” he complained around his mouthful of food, “so could we maybe  _not_  do the sneaking up on Tony thing for a change?"

Natasha's eyes narrowed assessingly before her expression softened. "Sorry. Habit."

Tony sighed and scrubbed a hand through his hair. He needed to remind himself that they all loved Steve, had all been affected by what had happened, even if he and James were acting like they had the worst of it.

"Ignore me," he suggested, taking another huge bite, peanut butter making the bread stick to the roof of his mouth. "And before you ask, I don't know, Nat. Steve and I never really planned for this contingency. I'm kind of hoping Loki has an answer." He thought about what he'd just said, spirits sinking further. "Wow, I didn't think I could feel worse, but that did the trick."

Natasha approached him carefully, as if he was a cornered, wounded animal. "Did you discuss what should happen in a worse case scenario?"

Tony processed her careful phrasing, and felt his stomach lurch painfully. He tossed his half eaten sandwich onto the countertop, and folded his arms across his chest, appetite gone.

"He's not dead," Tony pointed out.

Natasha tilted her head to the side, eyes narrowing. "He's also not capable of being Captain America at the moment."

Which was the problem he'd been trying to avoid thinking about. Tony knew as well as she did that all hell would break loose if the word got out that their fearless leader was back in diapers.

"Of course we discussed it."

Tony hadn't wanted to, but the Avengers were too important; he'd shoved aside his personal shit, and he and Steve had made contingency plans for all sorts of scenarios, including what should happen if Iron Man was killed, or permanently incapacitated.

It was how he’d come to find out there was a letter in the safe of Steve's suite with his name on it, which was a funny thing, since there was one in his own for Steve, each of the letters written long before they'd had that painfully important planning session.

"We see what we're dealing with first."

Natasha studied him, straightening up after a moment, apparently finding within him whatever it was she'd come looking for. Much to his surprise, she pressed a soft kiss to his cheek, saying, “You should finish the sandwich,” before leaving him alone with the lingering sweetness of her perfume in his nostrils.

Tony did as she suggested. He should feel worse—he didn't like thinking about Steve dying, it was right up there with thinking about James dying—but instead he actually felt a little better. Not much, but a tiny bit. Whether he wanted to or not, he was currently calling the shots, had a job to do, and there were people counting on him, people he loved.

"Hey JARVIS," he called softly, "let's get the other uniform ready ASAP. Just in case."

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Oh, Bucky. He needs all of the hugs, because his day is only going to get worse before it gets better, then sort of worse-better. Or is it better-worse? Also, Tony is alarmingly good at speaking baby. And Steve needs diapers.
> 
> The next chapter will actually be posted ahead of schedule, as it is a little shorter, so expect some Science Bros to arrive on Wednesday!
> 
> Thanks to all of you already commenting, and sharing your thoughts on the latest development in this universe! You've been filling my inbox with sunshine, and I love you all. <3


	4. Chapter 4

It was downright eerie seeing Captain America’s expression on a baby’s face, but there it was, distilled down to its purest state.

“Like a neutron star,” Tony muttered to himself, giving an exaggerated shudder.

Bruce sniggered beside him, finishing Tony’s thought out loud with, “created by a gravitational collapse of stubbornness,” as he reapplied the biomedical electrode Steve had yanked off of himself.

And because it’d been an emotional sort of day for him, Tony wasn’t even surprised when his vision became momentarily obscured by tears. They were the good kind, the sort that ( _before finding his real family_ ) had only happened in those ‘I’ve been up two days straight drinking and now I need to tell everyone how much I love them’ sort of moments.

Bruce _grokked_ him—he was also the only other person in the household who knew what _grok_ meant, so there was _that_ —and he _grokked_ Bruce, had fought through his and Bruce’s individual idiosyncrasies in order have the friendship they currently co-owned. It was, without a doubt, one of the best things that had ever happened to him in his entire life.

In fact, Tony was the proud owner of a closeness with Bruce that rivaled the intimacy he shared with James. It was one born from a shared language ( _science!_ ), experiences, and general all around nerdiness. And maybe occasionally, inappropriately timed glee of having a problem to solve when things were going all wrong, the sort that invariably earned them the, “you _are_ on our side, right?” looks from the rest of the team.

They coexisted within that sweet space born of discovery, exploring and communicating in half-sentences and micro-expressions, disconnected from the outside world, but just _right there_ with each other, grooving on a problem to be solved, sharing that secret joy in ways that neither of them had ever managed before in previous collaborations.

Sometimes it made him sad, because they’d be in the thick of something beautiful and it would occur to Tony that _this_ could have been his relationship with Howard ( _if only…_ ) or Bruce’s relationship with Brian ( _who made Howard look like the World’s Greatest Dad by comparison_ ).

Most of the time it just plain made him giddy with delight, and the best way to deal when he was suddenly overwhelmed with Bruce Appreciation was to invade his personal space with some sort of physical display of affection.

Of course, this was totally sanctioned behavior ( _he’d earned the privilege_ ), and Bruce normally responded with a good natured, half-smothered smile, or an eye roll. Since this was an atypical day, when Tony grabbed him and planted a big wet one on Bruce’s criminally under-kissed mouth, he uncovered the secret of all secrets without a single word passing between them.

To an outside observer it would have looked like some sort of acting class warm up routine—widening eyes, facial ticks, half-shrugs, smiles, a shoulder squeeze, and some nodding—but that was the equivalent of an entire conversation for the two of them.

On another day, maybe he wouldn’t have even picked up on it, but he was still feeling the hyper awareness that invariably went hand in hand with his panic attacks. The way Bruce tensed over the touch of their lips, combined with the strange flash of guilt in his eyes, and the faint, lingering scent of Natasha on his clothes all collided in Tony’s brain.

Bruce had been keeping secrets, and doing a damned fine job of it, too. Tony was impressed, and curious, and if he was being honest with himself, even a little jealous, because he selfishly liked thinking of Bruce as _his_ , and now he was going to have to share with someone capable of killing him in his sleep without waking James in the process.

Knowing Natasha, it wasn’t surprising that she’d wanted to keep things on the QT, but they were still living in a household full of sneaky, sometimes terrifyingly observant people, and had managed to keep this under wraps from everyone, including Clint, which was _big_.

“My lips are sealed,” Tony swore solemnly, crossing his heart. If Nat wanted to keep it a secret, he’d be damned if he ran his mouth. He had enough problems as it was. “But, ah, congrats?”

Bruce ducked his head adorably, and cleared his throat. “Thanks.”

“Say, look, a baby brain.” Tony pointed to the displays, happy for the diversion. Bruce gave him a grateful smile, slid his glasses back onto his face, and started scanning the readouts.

“The brain waves look as expected for his age range,” Bruce murmured, “I’m seeing typical organization…”

Tony rubbed his palms against his closed eyes, as if he could push away the fatigue. “This is going to be inconclusive, isn’t it?”

“Maybe.” Bruce suddenly sounded intrigued, which was always ( _well, almost always_ ) a good thing. “Just then, when you were talking… Say something again?”

“Something,” Tony said. “Sorry, that wasn’t helpful. Huh, look at that. Was his brain lighting up like that before?”

“Not so much.”

“Look at him go, making dopamine and norepinephrine like a little champ,” Tony murmured, smiling over at Steve. “Considering what you signed up for back in the day, I guess it’s no surprise that you’re happy being a lab rat, huh Cap?”

“I think something else is going on,” Bruce said, staring at Steve thoughtfully. “Let’s see what happens when you leave the room.”

That awful sinking feeling was returning, but Tony did as asked. Sure enough, as soon as he was out of the room he heard Steve going off with all the urgency of a fire alarm and headed back in. “Please tell me you poked him with something sharp and shiny while I was gone.”

Steve sniffled, his sobs trailing off, even as he gave a forlorn little wail. Unable to help himself, Tony placed a hand against the top of his head, stroking the silky blond hair as if Steve was a cat. He had a momentary image of himself as some cheesy super villain, all, “And now you _die_ , Mr. Bond,” while holding a tricked out super serum baby.

Oblivious to the weird cul de sac Tony’s thoughts had wound up in, Steve was all contentment, the pleasure center of his brain flashing across the displays like it was a Lite-Brite.

“Well,” Bruce removed his glasses and leaned back against the edge of the exam table, “all signs point to ‘normal baby brain,’ except that he seems to experience extreme levels of stress and discomfort when you’re absent.” He used his glasses to point to Steve’s happily glowing nucleus accumbens, adding, “On the bright side, there’s a strong positive response when you’re present, especially when speaking, or interacting with him.”

Guilt hit Tony like a blow to the solar plexus, catching him off guard, and leaving him confused. He hadn’t actually _done_ anything wrong, and it certainly wasn’t like he _wanted_ Steve to be fixated on him. So why was his first reaction to ask Bruce to keep this particular discovery just between the two of them?

“So, what, I’m like Cap-nip?”

Bruce shrugged. “Seems to be the case.” Tony rubbed his temple, if only to have something to do with his hand. It was also an excuse to partially hide his face, not that it did any good. Bruce was too observant, and far too well versed in the secret language of Tony Stark to not pick up on his current weird headspace.

“I’m guessing you and James never discussed…”

“What?” Tony interrupted, cringing over how defensive he sounded. “Nothing to talk about, is there, because nothing happened, except I got over a stupid crush.” Steve burbled, hands reaching up to grab hold of Tony’s wrist. “Exactly, thank you. What good could possibly come from telling him?”

Bruce said nothing at all, seemingly content to wait Tony out.

“I’m supposed to just bring it up one night, like, hey, wanna hear something funny?” Tony covered Steve’s ears with his hands, and hissed, “I used to jerk off thinking about your best friend. A _lot_. I’m sure that won’t make anything weird, considering we live and work with the guy.”

Bruce winced. “Fair enough.”

“It’s ancient history, and more importantly this has fuck all to do with our current problem.”

“I agree.”

Tony stared at him, confused, upset, and uncomfortable. “So why bring it up?”

“Because you needed to me to confirm for you that what’s happening right now is _not_ your fault, Tony. We’re dealing with magic.” Bruce gave a shrug. “Anything goes.”

Tony let out the breath he’d been holding, relief washing through him. Bruce was right. Telling himself was one thing, hearing it from someone he trusted was another. He _knew_ he was over Steve, had been for ages, but that didn’t mean he’d stopped loving the guy, it’d just shifted into something healthier.

They were friends, partners, brothers in arms. Steve was the Dad to Tony’s Mom, the two of them sharing a closeness that went hand in hand with overseeing The Avengers. All of that was good, great even, and totally appropriate.

But then there was the rest of it, little unresolved things that he still struggled with periodically, like the fact that through no fault of his own Steve had haunted Tony’s relationship with his father. By the age of four he’d already figured out Howard would never love him even half as much as he did Captain America.

And then there was all of the _inappropriate_ shit he didn’t think about anymore, but was still there in the back of his mind somewhere. Steve had no idea that when he was growing up Tony tended to vacillate wildly between hero worship and hatred. It only got worse when puberty had shown up to the party like some asshole bearing gifts of tequila and blow, which ( _despite being a good time in his experience_ ) was just asking for trouble.

There was a reason why blond and blue eyed had been his type for so long. Back in the day, if anyone had lifted up the Einstein poster he kept taped above his bed, they’d have found it hid a collection of stolen photos and other Captain America memorabilia that served as inspiration for his mastabatury fantasies.

All of which was exceedingly creepy to think about considering Steve was currently stuck as a one year old, and was keeping himself amused by trying to eat Tony’s watch.

“What if I’m harboring a secret desire to have Captain America love me, and this is the end result?” Tony kept his eyes averted. “That’s the sort of double-edged nonsense that goes hand in hand with magic, right?”

“You could just as easily speculate that Steve has been harboring a secret desire to have less responsibility,” Bruce pointed out. “Not everything is your fault, Tony.”

Steve stopped chewing on the watch long enough to agree with Bruce. “Thanks, kiddo.”

With a sigh, Tony began removing the electrodes, Steve beaming at him in appreciation as he did so. “Since this is a safe space, I’m going to go ahead and admit that I’ve been feeling suspiciously, ah, _comfortable_ with this, since… Well, since picking him up. Before that I was having the freak out to end all freak outs.”

"Sometimes the fear of something is worse than the reality. Besides, he _is_ kind of cute like this.”

Tony scooped Steve up into his arms, and swallowed around his guilt, because the baby Steve snuggles were growing on him in a big way. “Don’t get me wrong, I’m still absolutely terrified he’s going to stay this way. He’s probably infected me with some kind of magical parenting compulsion.”

Bruce just smiled at him, and shook his head. “I can scan you, if you want.” His tone made it clear Tony was building mountains out of molehills, as he tended to do, so Tony let it go with yet another sigh.

“I hate magic, Bruce.”

Bruce gave him a comforting pat on the shoulder. “I know. Me too.”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> So, Bruce has been keeping secrets! Also, Tony loves to blame himself for things.
> 
> Meanwhile, I'm super excited to announce I've been invited to join the incredibly talented authors/artists over at <http://imaginetonyandbucky.tumblr.com/> Come on over, share your winteriron feels / thoughts / prompts, and get a fic-let in return!


	5. Chapter 5

"You've got a sick sense of humor, Potts."

Pepper smiled as she held up the little Captain America onesie, not even bothering to hide her maniacal glee.

"You're supposed to use your powers for good."

"Oh, come on, Tony," she complained, "it's cute."

"This is a nightmare, not cute. Not. Cute." Pepper rolled her eyes. "I'm serious, Pep, I get that he's adorable, but no one can know what's happened. Not even Happy."

"I've been keeping your secrets for years, Tony, I know how this works."

She tucked a strand of her hair behind an ear, and it made his chest hurt a little. Yeah, he was definitely emotionally raw and running on fumes if Pepper playing with her hair had him about to burst into tears.

"I know. I'm sorry, I trust you, Pepper, this is just..." He shrugged, and had to fight the impulse to put his head in her lap. "Thanks."

"It's all going to work out, you'll see," and the odd thing was, Pepper made it sound true.

Steve blew a raspberry at her, kicking vehemently as she attempted to wrestle him into the inappropriately themed baby-wear. Just in case she had any doubts as to his opinion, he gave a little baby shout that unfortunately lacked all of Captain America’s umph.

"Be nice, Pepper brought you diapers," Tony's attention was suddenly divided as James arrived, out of uniform and scrubbed clean. "You've insulted him," he explained to her absently.

Tony could tell James had been crying, but on the upside it must have helped, because he looked more himself, the cold distance apparently having been shed along with the tears and his uniform. Tony had wanted to help with that part; a little film reel wherein they cried together and then fucked in the shower ( _which in turn miraculously made everything all better_ ) had been whirring along in his head since their kiss in the elevator.

James approached cautiously, some strange expression in his eyes as he watched them. It was chased away a moment later by surprise when Steve let out a happy whoop upon spotting him.

Pepper smiled and began tickling Steve’s tummy. "Someone's happy to see Bucky, isn't he? Isn't he?"

"Bu bu," Steve said, slapping away Pepper's hands, deeply offended by being talked down to.

"Hey," James said, managing a tight smile. “Pepper,” he added with a nod.

“Look how cute,” Pepper said, holding up the outfit.

James's face clouded over at the sight of the onesie, and Tony wanted to lick away the little furrow between his brows. "Please don't put him in that."

Pepper rolled her eyes and tossed the outfit aside, handing the bags of goodies off to Tony. "You two are no fun." She got up, smoothed down her skirt, dropped a kiss to Steve's forehead, and then grabbed her purse.

"Whoa, hey," Tony protested, up on his feet in an instant. "Don't you want to, I don't know, babysit?"

Pepper gave him  _the look_ , and he knew he was shit out of luck. "I'm in the middle of negotiations, you know that. Besides, you seem to be doing just fine."

"I'm not, honest, it’s the total opposite. Any minute now I'll break him, or scar him for life."

"Tony," Pepper gave him a kiss on the cheek, saying his name in that way she had, all loaded with feeling and admonishment and affectionate frustration. "He’s practically indestructible, and he probably won't remember any of this once he's back to normal, anyway."

“You say that now…”

“Bye bye, little itty bitty Steve,” Pepper waved to Steve, gave James a smile, and beat a hasty retreat.

"He's great at negotiations," Tony called after her. "Bringing a baby is a power move. They won't know how to react!"

"Try to have fun," she answered, grinning evilly as she got in the elevator. "And take a picture if you put him in the outfit."

James pulled his hair back and up, twisting it into a little knot before caving in to Steve’s urgent wiggling. Steve immediately switched into happy overdrive as soon as James had a hold of him. "Bu bu," he said again, the picture of contentment.

Something shifted in James's expression, a tension easing as Steve began telling him about the crazy day he'd been having. “Huh. He’s not screaming. This is an improvement.”

"Oh," and Tony was  _not_  disappointed by his sudden revelation, that was relief he was feeling. If the baby Steve love wasn’t exclusive to him, it backed up the notion that this wasn’t somehow his fault. "For some reason, he didn't recognize you before. Interesting. Hey, JARVIS, let Bruce know?"

“Of course, sir.”

James didn’t look particularly comforted by this revelation as he sank down onto the couch next to Tony. "Where is everybody?"

"Bruce is in the lab, Thor still isn't back, I sent Nat to talk to Sam in person, and Clint is liaising with Coulson."

He fished around in the bags Pepper had left, pulling out a Thor onesie that even had a little cape. Potts had definitely gone over to the dark side, which was a shame; he didn't think the Avengers could take her down, even when Cap once again met the minimum height requirement for battling the forces of evil.

Underneath all of the Avengers merchandise ( _and seriously, how was there nothing representing Iron Man in the entire bag?!_ ) he found some typical boring baby clothes, and pulled them out. He and James teamed up, and before he could wiggle too much or protest, they had Steve dressed, little socks and all. The two of them stared at each other, while Steve burbled away happily.

"Kay, I’ll say it. This is strangely okay. Is it strangely okay for you?"

James worried at his lower lip, bouncing Steve on his lap, that little furrow back between his brows. "I want my best friend back. But... I  _am_  feeling slightly less like the world is ending."

Tony exhaled shakily, because yes, that was it, that was exactly how he was feeling. Unable to help himself, he grabbed hold of James's face and kissed him, somewhat surprised to be kissed back with such enthusiastic desperation. 

Steve gurgled and smacked at them with tiny fists, trying to break it up, and James actually growled his displeasure when Tony pulled away. He was all hungry bedroom eyes, and Tony had to fight the impulse to ask JARVIS to watch Steve while they went off somewhere private.

"You and Bruce figure anything out?"

“Just that I’m causing some sort of happy chemical cocktail in Cap’s brain, which seems like something we now have in common.” James frowned at this. "How're you holding up?"

When he answered, it was in Russian, which was a pretty good way to keep Steve out of the conversation. "Not great, but I’m keeping it together." He eyed the baby in his lap warily, as if he might explode at any minute. "You seem... better."

And there was the guilt, right on schedule. "Look, earlier, I know I let you down—please believe me when I say I’m painfully aware of what a dick move that was—and, uh, yeah, I’m sorry. I am so _,_ so sorry. You needed me, and I was too busy worrying about  _me_  to help you. Not my finest moment."

James's mouth trembled, and it was difficult not to fill up the silence with more apologetic babbling, but Tony waited instead, ready to listen, and accept the criticism he so justly deserved.

"I thought Steve was dead," he finally said. "There was the explosion, and the freaky light show, and I couldn't  _see_  him anywhere. Just kept thinking, 'how can I help him if I can't find him?' This isn't... ideal. But at least he's alive. We're all alive."

Tony curled a hand around the nape of James's neck, stroking the soft skin there, an attempt to comfort. "I know."

James turned to face him, all sad, lost eyes. "I'm not mad you, Antoshka. I was disappointed and kinda angry in the moment, but I understand why it happened."

And just like that, Tony’s own eyes were tearing up again, so that James wavered momentarily, as if he was a mirage. "Yeah?" was all he could manage.

"I saw the way your hands were shaking. You needed to deal with that, and as soon as you could, you came back."

Tony sighed. Of course James had forgiven him, but that didn’t matter. It'd still be a long time before he forgave himself. They should be able to count on each other no matter what, and that hadn’t been the case, not even close. Tony never wanted to be responsible for that disappointed look haunting James’s face ever again.

"Yeah, well, thanks for that, but I never should have left in the first place."

James gave him a sad smile. “Can’t change the past, can only learn from it.”

Steve whined, fingers fumbling at James's mouth, a feeble attempt to get him speaking English again.

"Sorry, buddy," Tony said, pulling Steve onto his lap, "this is for adult ears only."

James watched ( _that strange expression was back on his face_ ) as Tony stood Steve up, his tiny feet braced against Tony’s knees. He kept hold of him under the armpits while Steve lectured him about how rude it was to talk about someone when they were  _right there_  and couldn’t understand what you were saying.

"Don’t try to guilt trip me. I'm going to have to change your diapers at some point, so I think I'm entitled to some private grown up talk with James, rude or not."

“You’re good at this.”

Tony squirmed, suddenly uncomfortable. Compliments had a way of doing that to him, sometimes. “Not really. I just happen to be one of two people he doesn’t scream bloody murder at, so I can see how it’d be easy to confuse that with, ah, competency.”

James shifted around until he was facing Tony and Steve, apparently undeterred. Oddly enough, he seemed equally uncomfortable. “It’s not just that. Do you… Is he actually speaking, or is this like when you talk to DUM-E?”

Tony gasped. “Are you implying DUM-E isn’t capable of communicating comprehensibly? Because I will fight you on that.”

This ( _confusingly_ ) got a smile out of James. “With you, sure. With the rest of us?” he shrugged. “We’re smack dab in the middle of a magic shitshow, so for all I know you’re hearing something entirely different than the rest of us when Stevie opens his mouth.”

“I’m not hearing things, or having magically induced hallucinations if that’s what everyone’s thinking.” Getting defensive probably wasn’t required at this juncture, but he didn’t have much choice over his reaction.

“Before, when Pepper was here,” and it was the hesitancy in James’s voice as he trailed off that had Tony worried. James was staring at Steve, pretty mouth turned down in a frown. “Steve could’ve been hers,” he finally said, “and seeing the three of you together…”

“What?”

Tony watched James’s mouth anxiously, scared and uncertain, so distracted by the way his teeth nervously worried at his lower lip that it made him jerk with surprise when he finally spoke.

“Is this something you wanted?”

“Are you seriously asking me if I wanted Steve to get exploded back into infancy? Because I did  _not_  wish for this, if...”

“No, not— _Tony_. I meant when you were with Pepper, or… anyone? A family. Kids.”

“Oh.” And now Tony just felt stupid, because suddenly it was painfully obvious that James was worried, was maybe scared shitless that the answer was yes. “Wow,  _no_ , not even a little,” he answered in a rush, “hence all the running away to have a panic attack earlier. I’m pretty sure the only reason I’m not puking with terror at the moment is that I’m in shock or something.”

James exhaled loudly, the tension leaving his body, a strained smile on his face. “Thank fuck," he said in English, and then they were laughing. Tony wasn’t even sure why it was so funny, but soon his sides were aching, tears were running down his face, and he and James were sort of hunched together and shaking, each with a hand on Steve so he didn’t roll onto the floor.

“I thought,” he struggled to get the words out, “we weren’t allowed to curse in front of the kid?”

James swiped his sleeve across his face to dry it off, and shrugged. “Fuck it, Steve can out-curse us any day, and we know it.”

“Fair point.”

The person in question was watching them all wide eyed and curious, as if worried something had gone horribly wrong with their brains. “Don’t worry, Small Wonder, we’re still fit for duty.”

“What’re the chances we wake up tomorrow and he’s back to normal?” James asked wistfully, and just like that Tony didn’t feel quite so much like laughing.

“Yeah, not putting money on us getting that lucky.” Tony set Steve down on the floor, watched as he wobbled on his feet, and wasn’t even a little surprised when he took off toddling a moment later.

“He can walk?” and Tony didn’t think it was his imagination that James sounded incredibly disturbed by this revelation.

“Apparently?"

With a world weary sigh, James stood and began following Steve as he staggered around like a little drunk. “Take a look around, Tony. All of your furniture is either glass with sharp edges, or something heavy just waiting to be knocked over. Or covered with choking hazards!”

“Ah…”

James leaned over and snatched up a throwing knife with a candy bar wrapper stuck to it just as Steve reached for it. He held it up and glared accusingly.

“Okay, that’s Clint’s, not mine, and I generally don’t keep track of what birdbrain leaves lying around…”

“Neither does Clint,” James snapped, and as if to prove his point, he reached behind a nearby lamp and pulled out a gun still adorned with duct tape. “We’ve all been hiding ‘just in case’ weapons in here for ages. You can’t just let him wander around!"

“Wait, hold on,  _I_  haven’t been hiding weapons, I don’t see Thor hiding weapons, or Bruce, or…”

"Right, you and Bruce just leave experiments lying around."

"That was one time!" Tony shot to his feet, not that it helped much, as James still had the height advantage. "And wait a minute, why is this  _my_  fault again? Was I supposed to—for no practical reason whatso _fucking_ ever—spontaneously baby proof the super hero clubhouse in all of my free time?"

James took a step towards him, his hands raised as if he was going to start ticking his various counterpoints off with his fingers, when Steve started shrieking and derailed the argument entirely.

"Alright, it's okay," James sighed, looking appropriately abashed, but Steve did his best attempt at a dash when James went to pick him up, little arms flailing to help him keep his balance as he tumbled face first into Tony's shins.

This time Tony sighed ( _admittedly a bit overdramatically_ ) as he stooped to pick Steve up. As soon as he did, Steve clung to him, pressing his face against Tony's chest as if to hide.

"Hey, I’ve got a new house rule," Tony said with all the forced cheerfulness he could muster, "no fighting in front of the baby."

Anger, irritation, longing, heartache, suspicion, shame, regret, and frustration flowed across James’s handsome features as if he was trying them on one by one, unsure of which was appropriate for the situation. When he spoke, it was clear the fight had gone out of him, leaving him looking raw and vulnerable and devastated.

"What are we supposed to do if he stays like this?" he asked quietly, as if Tony had any answers.

"I don't know."

Steve whimpered, and so Tony began rubbing circles against his back, dropped a kiss to the top of his head, and switched over to Russian.

"If you think this is fun for me, think again. Between the two of us, you've at least had something resembling a normal childhood. At the very least, it sounded like your family wanted you around. You  _had_  a family, for that matter. I don't have any points of reference, here."

James blinked at this, maybe as caught off guard by the anguish in Tony's voice as he was. He swallowed around the sudden lump in his throat, and squeezed Steve a bit tighter than he needed to, not that Steve seemed to mind. "And yes, I realize how stupid and… and  _petty_  that sounds, considering the source."

"Antoshka."

Tony exhaled shakily, some of the tension leaving his body almost against his will. It did stupid things to his heart when James called him that, which made holding onto his anger difficult.

"Why are we fighting, anyway?" he asked, and the change on James’s face told Tony he had picked up on the physical, psychological, and emotional exhaustion in Tony’s voice.

James opened his mouth, presumably to apologize, but then his gaze flicked off to the side, and Tony realized they were no longer alone.

"You're fighting? But, you guys never fight? Which is totally weird, by the way, you gotta have a good fight now and then so you can have nasty makeup sex."

Tony squeezed his eyes shut, and tried to focus on the genuine concern in Clint's voice rather than his words.

"Congratulations, you just volunteered to baby proof this floor of the Tower. Let JARVIS know if you need, uh, foam padding? Or... Oh, I don't know. Whatever."

"Wait, what?"

Tony shifted his grip, and Steve settled his head onto his shoulder, apparently not in the least bit interested in being put back down so he could potentially take an eye out on the corner of a table, which was fine by Tony.

"That's a serious order, by the way," Tony added, turning around so Clint could get a good look at his 'not messing around' face. "James was kind enough to point out that some of you have been jamming weapons into every available nook and cranny. Not exactly baby friendly behavior, Barton."

Clint opened his mouth, but wisely snapped it shut again after exchanging a look with James, which was just  _annoying_.

Steve picked that moment to chime in ( _clearly scolding_ ) and Tony smirked, unable to help himself. He'd lost count of the number of times he and Steve had teamed up and gone parental on Clint. It was nice to know that even in his current state, Steve still had his back.

"Thanks, Cap."

Tony stuck his tongue out at Clint, then headed for the kitchen. The kid would definitely be ready for a refuel.

"You always take his side!" Clint whined to Steve as they left.

Once he was in the kitchen, Tony was at a loss. He didn't dare set Steve down for fear he'd jump off the counter without a second thought ( _the guy jumped out of planes without a chute, so it was a pretty safe bet baby Steve was equally ridiculous_ ), and the floor was right out, since he'd probably run off and arm himself with a sniper rifle he found stuffed behind the stack of old pizza boxes.

"Sir, I thought it best to wait until you were alone." JARVIS spoke softly, as if worried they’d be overheard, which could only mean one thing. And, hey, there was that sinking sensation all over again.

"It's ready then?"

"Indeed. Shall I have it sent to your quarters?"

Tony stared into Steve's ( _literally_ ) baby blues as he thought about it for a moment. "No. This conversation needs to be strictly professional. Send it to Operations."

"Very well." JARVIS waited a moment, then asked, "Shall I schedule a team meeting?"

"No. I'll take care of all that, thanks, J."

Steve was looking around, trying to pinpoint the location of the person speaking, and ultimately wound up staring at the ceiling. It immediately brought to mind the first time Steve had met JARVIS; he’d had almost the exact same look on his face. It’d been adorable then, too.

"Some things never change.”

Tony attempted to refocus on the task at hand, which was keeping up with a baby super soldier's metabolism. He was considering assembling something one handed, or seeing about fencing Steve off somehow, but found himself sitting down instead, suddenly too overwhelmed to stay on his feet.

He’d probably been staring at the wall for a good two minutes by the time Steve gave him a comforting pat to the cheek, effectively bringing him back from la la land. "Sorry. Right. Food. I hope you realize you're shaving years off my life with this crap."

And because the universe apparently had it in for him, when he looked back up again Tony almost dropped Steve in shock as he realized they were no longer alone.

"Gah!"

Loki smiled wickedly. "Stark. Eloquent as ever."

The rest he couldn't make out over Steve's wailing.

 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Oh, the weapons that must be stashed around that place. Clint has his work cut out for him. Also, um, tensions might be running a bit high. But, Steve has some clothes, and diapers now, which is good? Have I mentioned this one is an emotional roller coaster? *shifty eyes*
> 
> Also, if your heart isn't hurting enough, why not check out my [Tony/Bucky Dream AU prompt fill](http://imaginetonyandbucky.tumblr.com/post/111014559582/au-idea-where-bucky-and-tony-meet-in-dreams) and cry in your coffee.


	6. Chapter 6

"My my," and Tony struggled not to rush over in order to insert himself between Loki and Steve, "it seems I owe you an apology, brother. This truly is too good to be missed."

"Loki," Thor rumbled in warning, probably more out of habit than anything else. He didn't actually seem particularly bothered as far as Tony could tell. "What can you glean?"

Loki rolled his eyes, his hands beginning to glow where they were poised above Steve. Tony still wasn't sure whether or not Loki was physically there, or if this was one of his projections, but either way it went against all of his instincts to just sit there and let him examine Steve.

A shared glance with his teammates showed he wasn't alone in his discomfort. He wondered if they’d be in any position to put a stop to it if Loki decided to take advantage of the temporary truce in order to snatch up the currently conveniently portable Steve Rogers in order to sell him off to the highest bidder.

Tony wasn’t sure if the others were thinking the same thing or not, but unsurprisingly, Clint was looking tense and a little green around the gills. Bruce was thankfully still pink ( _no green showing there_ ), while James had returned to full on seriousness, positioning himself between the archer and the so called god of mischief. He also seemed poised to jump to Steve’s defense if need be.

"I'm sorry, shall I rush my examination and risk overlooking something of worth all to satisfy Thor's legendary impatience?"

"Yeah, this won't end badly at all," Tony muttered to Bruce.

"My intention is not to rush," Thor answered, and Loki apparently accepted that as an apology, because he refocused his attention on the problem at hand.

"A poorly done thing, this," he murmured.

Tony had already been stressed out, so seeing Loki expressing genuine ( _at least, he thought it was genuine_ ) curiosity and distaste wasn't helping his mood in the least. Considering the source, "poorly done" could be good or bad or anything in between.

With a little 'hmph' noise, Loki straightened up, smoothing down the tunic he was wearing as he did so, eyes never leaving the tiny wriggling form of Captain America.

"Consider yourself lucky the patriot blundered into this.” His narrowed eyes sparkled with mischief as he looked to his brother. “Am I right in thinking no sign of your foe remained after the so called explosion?"

Thor folded his arms across his chest and frowned profoundly, perhaps feeling a bit defensive over the implication that he'd let an enemy escape. "You are."

Loki nodded, and shared a sickly smile with the group. It was tempting to suggest Bruce Hulk out and reintroduce his fists to Loki's face, but technically he was helping them, so...

"I thought not. Consider them dust and ash, unless they were particularly resilient, and in possession of a timeline equaling or eclipsing that of your captain."

The way Loki said 'Captain' made Tony's teeth hurt, probably because he'd reflexively clenched his jaw in order to keep his stupid mouth shut. They needed to keep Loki talking, and getting into a shouting match with him wasn’t likely to help much on that front.

Worryingly, Thor now appeared curious, as did Bruce. He'd begun fidgeting in that "I've just come to a horrible conclusion" way of his.

"Timeline?" James asked since no one else seemed willing to.

Loki gestured to the baby, as if that explained everything. "A great muddling of magics is at work. Likely the fools thought to open a doorway into the past as a means of escape."

Now Bruce was definitely interested, and he wasn't the only one. Tony could feel his own thoughts taking off at full speed, his mouth opening almost against his will. "So, what, instead of traveling back in time they accidentally rewound themselves out of existence?"

Loki's tone was beyond condescending. "A rather simplistic interpretation, but in this instance a childish explanation is appropriate; we  _are_  speaking of imbeciles toying with forces far beyond their understanding."

"Have we any hope of reversing what has been done to our shield brother?"

Tony could have kissed Thor for asking. He was damned if he was opening his mouth again, and really, knowing the answer to that particular question was all that was important.

"An underlying principle of elasticity is at play here," Loki explained, looking far too pleased for Tony's comfort. He made a strange gesture over Steve, and suddenly the air around him was alive with angry tendrils of pulsing light the color of a fresh bruise. "See for yourself."

"Healing has begun already," Thor said, stroking his beard thoughtfully. "This bodes well."

Tony and Bruce exchanged glances—if it was that simple, Loki would have left as soon as he'd had a look at Steve. No way they were that lucky.

Sure enough, Loki smiled and with a flick of his wrist the light show was over. "I suppose this could be interpreted as positive, depending upon your point of view."

"Speak plainly, brother!"

Steve made a startled little noise of dismay and that was it, Tony couldn't help himself, he darted forward and snatched him back up. It'd taken a good twenty minutes to get Steve calm enough to let Loki look him over in the first place, and Tony wasn't particularly interested in a repeat performance of the Baby Steve Tantrum Extravaganza.

"Have I not made it clear this spell was cobbled together by simpletons?"

Tony held Steve a little tighter, and shared a nervous glance with James. He already hated whatever Loki planned to say next.

"Perhaps your opponents anticipated sustaining injuries during your little brawl, and, no doubt thinking themselves quite clever, attempted to weave rejuvenating properties into their means of escape. Not of much use when you’ve effectively eradicated your own timeline, but..."

"And what significance does this hold, brother?"

Loki tipped his head to the side as if listening to something only he could hear. The air felt strangely charged with energy as his eyes met Tony’s own for an uncomfortably long moment. As Tony watched, spellbound, a lock of dark hair slid out of place, and came to rest against one of Loki's regal, pale cheeks, seemingly moving in slow motion. It was as if the rest of the room had faded into the background, his attention entirely hijacked.

"The soldier has a peculiar relationship with time, does he not? Timing as well, I would venture."

Loki spoke conversationally, and his words didn’t seem to match the movement of his lips. Tony wondered if the rest of the room could even hear him, or heard something else entirely, if Loki was speaking directly into his head somehow.

“His body struggles against and overcomes that which ravages all living things—your kind especially—and yet, beneath it all, wounds remain, unaffected by his resiliency, unshifted by time. This incongruity lies at the heart of the matter.”

And then Loki refocused his gaze elsewhere, and Tony jerked, as if he’d been released from some form of restraint. In the absence of whatever it was Loki had been doing to him, everything suddenly sounded too loud, the lights were too bright, and he was left with a sick, crawling feeling in his guts.

Steve burbled up at him in concern, and blinking rapidly as if to clear his head, Tony looked down, found bright blue eyes watching him intently. These eyes were as captivating as Loki’s had been, and Tony found he couldn’t quite look away.

Deciphering Loki’s annoying Dungeons & Dragons Doublespeak, Tony decided he was more or less implying that the spell Steve stumbled into had, in addition to rewinding his clock, interacted in some way with the healing properties of the serum, causing some sort of conflict.

Which made  _some_  sort of stupid magical bullshit sense. If Steve had simply ( _ha!_ ) travelled back through his own timeline, he should currently have a slew of health issues. Instead, Tony had himself an armful of extremely healthy baby. He supposed he should be grateful.

"To answer your question, brother, as it stands your precious little sentinel of liberty is the only one capable of reversing what has been done to him."

"Wait,  _Steve_  has to fix this?" Clint blurted. “But he’s a baby!”

“As are you all, by my way of thinking,” Loki answered, lip curled in a sneer.

Thor took several steps closer to his brother, perhaps worried they’d all spontaneously decide to pile on him in order to work out their exasperation. “Can we not assist in some manner?”

"Physically, he is perfection. It is a deeper wound he must heal in this form, and  _as I said_ , this task is his alone to undertake."

Thor's eyes widened slightly, and Tony had the distinct impression he'd come to some conclusion that was eluding the rest of them. "And if he fails to do so before the tears in time surrounding him have healed?"

Loki smiled, and Tony wanted to throw up. "He'll remain in this form, and go about his return to adulthood in the typical fashion."

"Okay, let me just…” Tony shifted his grip on Steve, and tried to swallow down his panic. “So you’re saying Steve has some sort of of spirit quest he needs to complete, and if he succeeds he snaps back to normal, but if he  _doesn't_ , the change is permanent?"

Loki arched an eyebrow by way of answering.

"Does  _he_  know this?" Tony was beginning to sound hysterical and he knew it, but didn't particularly care. "Because it seems like he's only operating with baby logic at the moment."

Then James was there beside him, a hand on his shoulder as if to hold him back, which was when Tony realized he had taken several steps forward and was shaking ( _he wasn’t sure if it was with anger or fear_ ). He sighed in relief as James took Steve off his hands, allowing him to fold his arms across his chest and focus on evening out his breathing.

Loki watched the three of them with narrowed eyes, then turned to his brother and began speaking in some language Tony had no hope of understanding. He wondered if this was their native tongue, or from some other realm entirely. Either way, it boiled down to a strained conversation between the brothers that ended with Loki winking out of existence.

“Seriously?” Tony and Clint shouted at the same time.

Thor made a dismissive hand gesture, and seemed oblivious to the rest of the room staring at him expectantly. “My brother refused to say more on the matter,” he announced solemnly, but Tony got the distinct impression he was lying.

Beside him, Steve was already whimpering and attempting to twist out of James’s grasp. Apparently, he was still at the top of the People Baby Steve Approves Of list.

Tony felt like the weight of the world was pressing down on him, his limbs heavy, his thoughts spiralling off course, hearing Loki’s words in his head again, and again— _return to adulthood in the typical fashion_.

Unfortunately, it didn’t matter whether or not they understood the mechanics of what was happening, because the only person equipped to solve their problem was currently back in diapers, and probably in need of more mashed banana.

Tony ignored the chatter around him as the group began discussing the implications of Loki's bombshell, opting instead to grab the bags Pepper had left behind. Digging around, he eventually found the baby carrier, yanked it out, strapped it on, and stalked over to James.

"Steve me," he ordered, ignoring the crazy looks everyone was giving him.

With a tight frown, James did as was asked, and then helped Tony make some adjustments until Steve was effectively secured. At least now he'd have his hands free.

"Okay, people, this place isn't going to baby proof itself. Bruce, if you don't mind, help Clint out with that? James, I need you to handle our suite. JARVIS, we're going to need a super soldier proof crib ASAP."

"Of course, sir."

Steve babbled happily, apparently living vicariously through Tony; if he couldn't be the one issuing orders, at least he could be strapped to the person who was. "Cap needs to eat again, which I'll handle. Thor, you're with me."

There was a moment where no one moved, and James watched him, his expression ominous. Tony wished the situation was different, but this was the hand they'd been dealt, and at the moment he didn't have the luxury of treating James differently than any of the other Avengers.

"Want me to order food?" Clint asked, and to Tony's absolute relief, he began moving, started fishing under the couch and pulling out pistols.

"Absolutely."

Clint gave a snappy salute, and Tony could have kissed him. "Consider it done, Mom."

Before heading to the elevator, James gave him a nod and a tight smile, his eyes speaking volumes, and Tony relaxed just the slightest bit. He hoped his gratitude was obvious.

"Okay, squirt, let's get you fed."

Much to Tony's relief, Thor pitched in once they were in the kitchen. He was a much better cook in Tony's opinion.

"With Steve out of commission, it all falls to me," he explained softly. "Which means I need to know what else Loki told you."

It was obvious Thor was less than comfortable with the request, but he seemed to understand the position Tony was in.

"I know not the solution to our friend's dilemma," he answered hesitantly. "Loki and I spoke of the bonds of love."

Tony suddenly found himself incredibly interested in examining the leftovers he'd found in the fridge. "Love, huh?"

Guilt churned through him once again as he thought of the years spent longing over someone way, way out of his league. He should have known Bruce was going to be wrong. Somehow this was going to wind up being his fault, and he'd have to apologize to the group for fucking them all over. That never got old.

"Whilst conferring, my brother made it known Steven’s thoughts are that of any child's."

“Great.” Tony grimaced. "So, what, whatever's going on with him, vacationing as a baby is supposed to  _help_?"

"The heart and mind are often in conflict, are they not?"

"Sure, but..."

"Were things not simpler in childhood? Our parents dote upon us, responsibility is not felt so keenly, and we look upon the world as an adventure."

Tony stared, knew he was staring. That didn't sound like any childhood he'd experienced. Before now, it hadn't actually occurred to him that someone might  _want_  to be a kid again. That was straight up nightmare fuel, as far as he was concerned.

"As it stands, of all our number, only yourself and James are remembered by Steven."

That Steve would remember Bucky Barnes made some sort of odd sense to Tony. They loved each other pretty fiercely, so much so that seeing Steve again had been enough of a catalyst to derail HYDRA’s brainwashing. It was the other bit that had him confused, the part where  _he_  was worth remembering.

“Any idea why?”

Thor squirmed—there really wasn’t another word for it, and Tony was pretty sure he’d never seen the big guy squirm before—before answering. “Loki did not say. It is my belief that only through your love and support will our shield brother succeed, and return to his true form."

Tony nodded, not trusting himself to speak right away. He'd felt the weight of that responsibility right from the moment he'd looked into Steve's eyes on the battlefield. He'd run from Bruce's lab in an attempt to distance himself from the truth, but there was no point in running now, not if he wanted their lives back to normal.

"Loki didn’t happen to, I dunno, mention how long we have before Steve is stuck like this?"

Thor hummed thoughtfully as he took the food away from Tony, which was good, considering he was making a mess of it. "There is no way to be certain, but one might observe the wounds in time surrounding him, and postulate."

Tony ran his hands through his hair, then down over his face, and tried to ignore the hectic drumming of his heart. His back already ached from all the baby lugging he'd been doing, his eyes felt like they'd had sand rubbed in them, and he wasn't even close to being able to call it a day.

He wanted a shower, and a drink, and the freedom to go upstairs, shove James against a wall, and kiss him until he was dizzy with it. He wanted to hide his face against that warm, broad chest and cry until he ran out of tears, try to find a way to apologize for somehow unintentionally ruining their lives, and...

He took a ragged breath, and purposefully reined in his thoughts. When he next spoke to James, it wouldn't be a conversation either of them wanted to have, and he'd be lucky if he didn't get punched in the mouth, considering how tightly wound they both were at the moment.

Tony sighed, sucked in another deep breath, and buried his nose in Steve's soft, blond hair. He still smelled the same, which was strange, as well as strangely comforting. He’d assumed babies came pre-loaded with that baby smell, but maybe you had to actually use baby products on a kid before that happened.

Feeling slightly more centered, he set to brewing a pot of coffee.

"Hey, would you mind confabbing with Bruce? We're going to need to see about creating some sort of monitoring device, if that's even possible, and it sounds like you have more experience with timespace tears than either of us."

Thor clasped his shoulder, and now it was Tony’s turn to squirm.

"I see plainly the turn your thoughts have taken, and feel I must not remain silent. Whatever has transpired is no fault of yours. You have risen to the occasion, more so than any of us."

"I don't..."

Tony bit down hard into his lower lip to stop the words waiting to spill out of his stupid, traitorous mouth. There was no way to explain to this man that he didn't really have a choice when it came to blaming himself. Years of Howard using Captain America as yardstick and reminding Tony of all the ways in which he didn't measure up meant he was conditioned to think of the guy as infallible. The idea that, between the two of them, this would wind up being Steve's fault and none of his was like trying to convince himself that hydrogen contained two negatively charged electrons.

"I have faith in you, Anthony."

It was so entirely unexpected, caught Tony so totally off guard, that he could only stare, and blink, and try desperately not to begin sobbing in front of the demigod.

"Thanks. That, uh, that means a lot," he said when he finally trusted his voice enough to speak.

Thor studied him for a moment, then nodded, adding, “I shall speak with Bruce upon finishing here.”

“Good.”

Tony focused on watching the coffee pot slowly fill, pushing down the tidal wave of emotions threatening to drown him, and wondered if anything would ever feel normal again.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> So, I obviously don't know when Monday is, because I am posting ahead of schedule. Um, just a warning, Ch. 7 is a killer, so you'll get to start next week out with buckets of feelings. Not all bad ones, either. It is a lot of: NO! Oh, yeah, baby, _right there_... Wait, _NO!_ Aww, yes, please. NO!!!! _Yes_. I apologize in advance.
> 
> Also, Loki is tough to write. Hopefully I was able to him justice.
> 
> Also-Also, more info on WTF is going on with Baby Steve! Oh, he just needs to heal his non-physical wounds, that's all, no big deal. I'm sure he'll sort that all out in 24 hrs.


	7. Chapter 7

Tony sat in the semi-darkness of Operations, drumming his fingers nervously against the arc reactor while watching a video feed of his friends all eating dinner together. It was almost funny how the loneliness washing over him was comfortably familiar. The only thing missing was a tumbler of scotch and a good buzz, and it’d be just like old times.

“You still feel this isolation most of the time, don’t you?” Tony swiveled in his chair, found Steve watching him solemnly. It didn’t matter whether Steve understood or not, because Tony already knew the answer. “Yeah you do.”

With a sigh, he turned off the feed, and faced Steve fully. “No point in putting this off any longer. I’m counting on you to hold up your half of the bargain, okay?”

Steve gave him the baby equivalent of a pep talk, clapping his hands against Tony’s face at the end, which he was going to have to accept as agreement.

Tony knew he was stalling. He’d kept Rhodey on the line for a good twenty minutes, making sure it was clear he needed to be on standby while successfully avoiding explaining why. He trusted his lines of communication to be properly encrypted, but this was too big a secret to risk even an infinitesimal chance at a leak.

Now, there was no one else to call, and really, no matter how long he sat there, nothing was going to make what had to happen next any easier.

“Hey JARVIS, send Nat and James up.”

“Very well, sir.”

Tony scrubbed a hand over his face, took a fortifying swig of coffee, and then scooped up Steve and headed for the elevator. “Remember. Half an hour, and then I’ll be back down for you.”

While they stood there waiting Tony began babbling.

“When you’re all grown up again, any time you feel this way, you  _find_ me. We’ll come up with a codeword, like, I dunno,  _Ozymandias_  or something, and you just say that, and I’ll  _know_ , and we don’t even have to talk about it if you don’t want. I don’t care if I have to fly halfway around the fucking world, Steve, I’ll come, alright?”

Steve sounded sad when he said, “onn,” which Tony had come to understand was an attempt at saying his name. Unable to help himself, he gave the kid a kiss on the forehead before the elevator doors opened, and then shoved everything he was feeling down, down, down.

Just like old times.

James and Natasha wore identical concerned expressions, and Tony almost lost the tenuous grip on his controlled facade when he realized James had put together a plate of food for him, and brought it along.

“Sorry to interrupt dinner,” Tony began, stepping into the elevator before either of them could exit. “Natasha, you’re actually heading back down with Steve.”

She arched a perfect eyebrow at him, eyes narrowed suspiciously. “Am I?”

“You are.” He met her gaze head on, and watched the subtle shift that told him she’d figured out this wasn’t just a ploy to have some alone time with James. “Spangles here has sworn on a stack of bibles that he will not burst your eardrums.”

Steve still looked incredibly forlorn as Tony handed him over, his lower lip quivering dangerously, and his eyes bright with unshed tears. “Half an hour,” Tony reminded him, mussing up his hair.

Before he lost his nerve, Tony stepped back out of the elevator, motioning for James to follow him. He glanced over his shoulder in time to see Natasha mouth, “good luck,” and to give Steve a wave goodbye.

When he turned back around, he almost walked into the back of James, who had stopped halfway into the room.

“What’s that doing here?” he asked, his voice cracking halfway through the sentence.

“You know why it's here.”

James whirled to face him, and it took every last ounce of Tony’s self control to stand his ground. James was furious, but it was more than that, so much more. It was anguish, and misery, and watching James’s heart break in front of his eyes. Tony could hear James struggling to keep his breathing under control as he wiped hurriedly at his face, pushing aside a tear that had managed to escape, giving a little negative shake of his head.

“No. No way.”

Tony took a step closer, stomach clenching as James took one back, maintaining the physical distance between them. He’d thought James had been upset earlier, but that had only been the tip of the iceberg. This was… He wasn’t sure he’d  _ever_  seen him like this.

“No  _fucking_  way, Stark.” A strangled, miserable noise escaped James’s mouth before he could clamp down on the sound. "You can't ask me to do this!"

Tony flinched. There was no pretending  _that_  didn’t hurt. He ducked his head, a small, humorless laugh escaping. With a resigned shrug, he swallowed around the lump in his throat. When he looked back up, James was staring at him almost as if he was a stranger.

“Yeah, thing is, I wasn’t asking.”

James hurled Tony’s dinner across the room ( _he’d already forgotten all about the food_ ), the plate shattering ( _a tinkling, almost pleasant sounding cascade of broken glass skittering across the floor_ ) when it collided with the wall. He couldn’t stop himself from wincing, and quickly shoved his shaking hands into his pockets; he refused to look and see how bad the mess was, stared at his shoes instead.

Tony wasn’t sure what was worse—that his stomach rumbled with interest over how good the food smelled, or the memory it dredged up of being seven years old and having his father hurl a criminally expensive bottle of single-malt at his head. It’d only hit the wall because he’d managed to step out of the way at the last second. He had a scar, actually, a tiny white line marking the hand he’d reflexively raised to protect his face; it’d been sliced open by the glass ricochet.

He squeezed his eyes shut for a moment, suddenly terrified that when he opened them again he’d find the same look in James's eyes that he'd seen in his father's; disapproval, disgust, disappointment. Howard Stark’s patented blend.

Seeing it would mark the beginning of the end. Even if he apologized, and they worked through this unexpected mess they'd found themselves stuck in the middle of, he’d never be able to  _unsee_  or  _unfeel_.

It would haunt him, just like it had with Steve.

Maybe he didn’t have as good a grip on his mask of indifference as he’d thought, because when he opened his eyes and looked up again expecting the worst, James was wearing an expression Tony couldn’t quite identify.

Unlike when he was seven, he didn’t have time to step out of the way, but it didn’t matter, because James wasn’t lashing out.

With a huff of surprise, the air was squeezed out of Tony’s lungs by the arms wrapping tightly around him, and for a strange, surreal moment he struggled against the embrace, not sure what was happening. Then James’s mouth was against his, hot, demanding, and tasting like tears.

“I love you,” James insisted angrily, and Tony could only gasp, and shudder, and hold on for dear life. Strong hands cradled his face, holding him in place, and Tony groaned, every nerve ending alive and hungry, his eyes wide as James kissed him. “I’ll never stop, Antoshka,” he growled, biting down painfully into Tony’s lower lip. “Even when I’m furious.” Another of those vicious, possessive kisses. “When are you going to believe me?”

“I do,” Tony swore, hardly recognizing his own voice. “I do, I’m sorry…”

“Shut up,” James hissed, not giving him much of a choice in the matter, tongue insinuating its way between Tony’s lips.

Just like that, Tony was hard, blood pumping fiercely south, and he clung to James, sucked on his tongue, grabbed a fistful of his hair, and arched against him. Hands slid down his back to cup his ass, and then James was half carrying, half dragging him over to the table.

Tony huffed as he was thrown against the hard surface, the weight of James’s body pressing down on him so he couldn’t quite seem to catch his breath. He was all heat, and solid muscle, immovable, rocking the thick outline of his hard cock against Tony’s hip.

With practiced ease, James managed to unbutton Tony's pants one handed, the cool metal of his fingers against Tony's skin making him break out in gooseflesh. His body sang  _yes, yes, yes_! This—connection and pleasure and love and James—was what he'd been aching for ever since seeing the man's body tossed through the air like a rag doll. The confirmation of life, the chance to kiss every lingering bruise, to feel James's heartbeat against his skin.

With a shudder, he tore his mouth away from James's, writhing beneath the weight of him, thrusting into the deliciously tight fist wrapped around his cock almost against his will. With an angry groan, Tony banged the back of his head against the table several times, thoughts spiralling out of control, responsibility warring with desire.

“James,” he cried piteously. Beside him, Captain America’s shield caught the light in the room, reflecting strange, colorful patterns onto the ceiling. “We shouldn’t…  _can’t_. Not right now."

Teeth bit painfully into the curve of his shoulder, and Tony hissed with pleasure. Despite his words, his hips hadn't stopped their movement, body already screaming for release.

The only problem was the timer ticking down in his mind. He'd told Steve half an hour, and considering their situation, he didn't dare let him down. Thor had made it clear—Steve was counting on them to get through this.

Summoning the last of his willpower, he grabbed James's shoulders and shoved hard. The face poised above his own was heartbroken, wounded, but he released Tony, pushed up and off but not quite away, not yet.

"I only have nineteen minutes before I have to be back downstairs," Tony apologized. He stroked the side of James's face, distracted by his frown, by the ruddy color his lips had turned from their kissing. "This is Avengers business. I want to—believe me I want to—but it has to take precedence. I promised Steve."

James closed his eyes and exhaled sharply, his breath hot against Tony's face. “You heard Loki. Anyone else, and we’d be planning a funeral. None of us know how much time we have left.”

"This is important," Tony added unnecessarily once James was looking at him again.

"Antoshka," James whispered, sad blue eyes searching Tony's for something, "This is important, too, and you’re not listening. I want to spend the rest of my life with you."

That should have been a nice thing to hear, except it dumped ice water into Tony's veins. James sounded hesitant, almost like he was asking a question, or... or as if a huge 'but' was about to follow.

Like maybe,  _I want to spend the rest of my life with you, but not if we have to raise my best friend together._

_But not if Steve's well being will alway take precedence over our relationship._

_But I don't think you'd make a good father._

Tony was scared and confused, pushing the hair back from James's face so as to see him better.

"Did you change your mind?"

And that... was not what he'd been expecting to hear, not in the least. It made no sense.

"Wait, hold on," Tony begged, wriggling around until he was out from under James. He hastily buttoned up his pants and tried to rein in his chaotic thoughts. "Change my mind about  _what_?"

James slid off of the table and into one of the chairs, slumping over, head in his hands. After a moment, he lifted his chin, let Tony look into his red rimmed eyes, face firm with resignation.

"Tony, you've taken me out on five ridiculously overblown dates this month." He sighed, rubbed a hand across his face. "At first, it was kinda funny how hard you were trying. And, you know what, after that balloon ride picnic debacle I figured  _I'd_  just ask  _you_  instead." James cleared his throat, "So I made some plans of my own, but halfway through Round Four of you trying to propose, it suddenly occurred to me that maybe you weren’t going through with it for a reason. Deep down, are you still not sure about us?"

Tony's mouth was hanging open in shock and confusion. He was livid, arousal long since forgotten, everything forgotten, except the stupid, beautiful, perfectly fucked up man sitting before him.

He could not believe what he was hearing. Yes, okay, fine, maybe he'd convinced himself he was being a little less obvious with Operation Proposal, and sure, he'd had few false starts but... How could James ever think he wasn't  _sure_? It was pretty much the only thing left to be sure about in his life—he couldn't even count on people aging in the right direction anymore!

"I'm positive," he shouted, surprising them both. It echoed through the room, and James's eyes widened. "I am so fucking positive. I want to marry you, James Buchanan Barnes, so much that it makes me feel insane, actually, which is why I kept going back to the proposal drawing board. It all seemed... overblown. Stark Fucking Expo all over again, you know?”

He shook his head, and tried again, feeling like he wasn’t making any sense. “It reminded me of how I was always overcompensating with Pepper. And that's not  _us_ , it's not how I wanted to ask."

James was just staring. Tony wanted to grab him, shake some sense into him, took a deep breath and slammed his palms down against the table in frustration. "I love you, you fucking idiot. I can’t believe you’d even think for a second that I wasn’t sure about that, about you, about  _us_. And in case  _you’re_ having second thoughts, you should probably know this isn’t up for debate—we're getting married whether you like it or not!"

"Did you seriously just  _insult_  me while ordering me to marry you?"

"No!" Tony thought about what he'd said, and grimaced. "Or, yes, a little?"

"Alright. Just checking." James smiled, and Tony felt like the fist of fear that had been gripping his heart released its hold, leaving him light, a little giddy, and a lot overwhelmed. "So let's get married then."

Tony’s entire body was shaking. “Okay, great, we’re getting married! Uh, for the record—this?—also  _not_  how I wanted to propose.”

“I don’t know. I kinda liked it.” James shrugged, and he looked so beautifully wrecked that Tony wanted to climb into his lap and say  _fuck it_  to everything else going on in their lives. They could run away, live on that island together, let Steve figure out his own shit.

“You were right. Hot air balloons, and fireworks, that ain’t us. This though—the world falling to pieces, and having to put it back together again—that’s us in a nutshell, Antoshka.”

Suddenly, Tony couldn't seem to find a comfortable place for his arms, folded them across his chest, then tried his hands on his hips, before giving up and scrubbing them over his face. He was a jumbled mess of residual adrenaline, and misery, and relief, and joy, and excitement, and dread, and anticipation, and the timer was still ticking down in his head.

"I swear, if I get through this day without having a complete nervous breakdown, it'll be a miracle."

James stood up slowly, then came to a parade rest, his eyes once again focused on the reason Tony had called him up to Operations in the first place.

"I have one request, non-negotiable. We wait til Steve is back to normal," he said, his eyes making it clear he wasn't willing to discuss any other possible outcome to Steve’s current situation. "He has to be my best man."

Tony didn't trust himself to speak, just nodded, watched as James began stripping. There was nothing sexual in the act in the least, despite the telltale bulge in James's pants—this was clinical. It was resignation personified. It was a shedding of self, and Tony hated that he couldn't stop it from happening.

Now, when it was too late for comfort, Tony could finally see what the clothes had hidden. Proof of the violent start to their day was painted across the body of the man he loved. Too many bruises for him to count, all outmatched by an angry looking, blood clotted gash along James's side. He was already healing, but knowing that didn't help, didn't make Tony feel better in the least. It just made it harder to watch the transformation taking place before him.

James's boots hit the floor with a thud as he removed them, jeans not far behind. He wasted no time slipping into the uniform, his expression darkening significantly by the time he was securing the various straps, and ensuring the armor plating sat comfortably against his skin. The Stars and Stripes seemed almost garish, a striking contrast to the black leather he was accustomed to seeing James wear into battle.

Tony watched, tense and anxious, as James rolled his shoulders, and swung his arms once, twice, checking the give and take, likely cataloging the various differences between his standard armor and the Captain America version.

He pulled on the gauntlets, the gleaming metal of his left hand disappearing, and Tony wasn't sure why seeing that felt so wrong. It was tempting to stop it, to rip the uniform off of him, and send him back downstairs, but he couldn't. This wasn't about him, or James anymore; it was about something bigger.

Long, dark hair hung down, partially obscuring James's face, chin tucked against his chest as he stared at the helmet in his hands. Tony had the odd impulse to say, "Alas, poor Yorick! I knew him, Horatio," but bit back the words. Now was not the time for jokes.

"Are you sure," James asked, interrupting his thoughts, voice thick with emotion. "Captain America is supposed to be a role model, not... not a murderer."

Tony grit his teeth at the word. "Good thing you're not a murderer, then."

James raised his eyes, mouth working as he fought the grief.

"Steve wants it this way," Tony said, and seeing the confusion added, "not the baby— _our_  Steve. We talked about, ah... If anything ever happened?" Tony rubbed his temples. "This is what he wants. You're the one he wants to carry on his legacy."

If James was comforted by this, it didn't show. Instead, his mouth trembled, and he set the helmet back down on the table, traced one of the wings painted on the side.

Blinking back tears, he met Tony's eyes for a fleeting moment, then bent over. Before Tony had time to process what was happening ( _blurred motion of a hand reaching for James's discarded boots_ ) there was a flash of light reflecting off a blade, and...

"Whoa, hey," Tony took a step forward with a hand extended, as if that could stop anything.

With quick efficiency, James gathered up his hair, twisting it as if to pull it into a ponytail, but instead he flicked the opposite wrist. When he pulled his hand away, the dark strands came along for the ride, until James opened his fist and let them fall to the floor beside him. Hair taken care of, he slammed the knife down  _into_  the table. It shook back and forth violently from the impact, the tip likely dulled as a result, but James was done with it, was already reaching for the helmet.

Tony bit down hard into his lower lip, stomach churning uncomfortably as he watched James tilt his head so the longer pieces of his hair would fall back, remain hidden. Only then did he slide on the helmet, and secure the strap beneath his chin. With a last, fluid movement, he lifted the shield from the table, and slid it into place, snug against his back.

Just like that, Tony wasn't looking at James anymore, he was looking at Captain America.

Everything in his heart screamed at the wrongness, even as his brain assessed, and his mouth opened. He couldn't act like James's lover, he had to be Iron Man, had to put the safety of the team and their secret first.

"No more guns."

James straightened, shifted his stance slightly, before folding his hands behind his back, a soldier at the ready.

"I know." James's voice was flat and even, his eyes dry, but blazing with anger.

"No knives, either."

"I know how Captain America fights," he snarled.

Tony bristled. "I hope so. We can't have any slip ups."

James stood his ground, nostrils flaring. The leather creaked ominously, and Tony wondered if James would regret agreeing to marry him by the time they went downstairs.

"Understood." James tilted his chin defiantly. It reminded Tony quite a bit of the first time he'd looked into the deep blue sky of Captain America's eyes only to find them colder than the ice they'd found him preserved in. "Are we done?"

"No." The timer in his head was ticking away, faster than ever. "Wear it downstairs. We're having an impromptu team meeting."

James looked like he wanted to protest, but instead he simply said, "Yes, sir."

Tony swallowed, and thought of the couch in his workshop, of the bottle stashed beneath. "How's the fit?"

"I won't know for sure until fighting in it," he answered flatly.

"Fair enough."

Tony took a deep breath, and headed for the elevator, trusting James to follow. But James didn’t follow. Captain America did. Tony half expected to see the other man, the man he loved, still standing there in the semi-darkness of the room, lost and alone. What he saw instead was closer to the shedded skin of a snake; pieces of a man scattered across the floor, as if James Buchanan Barnes was extraneous, unwanted, unnecessary.

And he  _hated_  it. Hated that  _he_  was the one making it happen, that Steve had put him in this position, that responsibility had won out over love. The elevator doors slid shut, and Tony didn't know where to look. He felt ashamed of himself, disgusted, even though he knew he’d made the right call.

Five minutes, forty-two seconds and counting.

“JARVIS, I’m going to need Pepper to come up with some of her PR magic. We need to be ready in case the press gets wind that there’s a baby in the tower. I want a couple scenarios to choose from. Make sure she keeps in mind the big unknown of when, or even if, Steve will revert to adulthood.”

“Very well, sir.”

“We’re on high alert from here on out, J. When the other shoe drops, we need to be ready to assemble.”

"I don’t think I can do this," James whispered.

“No speaking Russian while in the uniform,” Tony ordered before actually processing what had been said.

When he looked up from his shoes, he realized James hadn’t been talking to him, though, not really; he’d been talking to his own reflection. His jaw was clenched, and Tony recognized the chaotic way he was breathing, the glassy look in his eyes.

“James.”

Four minutes and thirty-seven seconds.

“I was… Zola called me the new face of HYDRA,” he murmured. “What was Steve thinking?”

“He was thinking the same thing I was. Courage, honor, loyalty, sacrifice. You're braver than you think, stronger. You’ll never stop fighting for what’s right, you’ll never compromise your integrity.”

James was looking at him now, which was better. Tony grabbed him by the shoulders.

“Contrary to popular belief, I know exactly what I'm doing,” he said. “You’re the only other man I’ve ever known worthy of carrying the shield.”

Two minutes and sixteen seconds.

And then, because his day wasn’t confusing enough already, Tony Stark finally got to fulfill his childhood dream of kissing Captain America.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> So... that happened. Bad feelings, good feelings... Feelings everywhere! But, um, so, that Tony is good at proposing, am I right? The wedding will be a lot happier, at least. Also, I finally got Bucky out of his pants, but then he went and put on a different pair! 
> 
> Oh, and to those of you who have already been reading along, I recently added this note to the story: 
> 
>  
> 
> _This is a story about healing emotional wounds, and as a result, it gets very, very feels-heavy. I promise you, this isn't just self indulgence. Tony has a lot of childhood issues (in my mind, in my universe) that he'll be working through as a result of what has happened. Steve is also healing, and by the end of this emotional roller-coaster, everyone will be in a much better place. Promise. ;)_


	8. Chapter 8

When the elevator doors slid open, all hell broke loose. Tony ignored the wave of questions, exclamations, and general mayhem. Nothing mattered except Steve squealing with delight and trying to push his way through the sea of adult legs surrounding him.

Tony crouched down to kid level, and Clint finally took the hint and stepped aside so Steve could toddle past, and more or less hurl himself in Tony’s direction. Then little arms were encircling his neck, the high pitched, excited baby babble making him wince just a little, even as he smiled. Beyond caring what any of them thought at this point, Tony closed his eyes, and let himself focus only on hugging Steve, just for a moment.

One of the downsides to the way his brain worked was his ability to remember. A therapist had once told him that most people's childhoods were a mishmash of feelings tied to hazy recollections, and that one of his problems was that his memories were a little too crisp, and accessible. It wasn't like Tony could project back to kicking it in his mother's womb or anything, but he could dig pretty deep into the archives.

He could all too easily remember the feeling of waiting and waiting for Howard to come home. There were even days when the waiting paid off, his father arriving sober and in a relatively good mood, actually smiling ( _it was a tired, resigned smile, but it was still a smile_ ) to find Tony there. Maybe he'd even get his hair ruffled, be allowed to tell his dad about his day.

Most of the time the waiting was just that. Waiting. Hours of waiting until he was practically asleep on his feet, and someone took him to bed. That wasn't great, but it was better than waiting only to have Howard brush past him, barking for the nanny or his mother to, "collect the boy."

So much time had been wasted standing in the foyer of that echoey house, clutching something he'd built or found. A prop. Something to give him an excuse, something to show dad, because even back then he'd figured out he wasn't good enough all on his own; he had to add value, because his father was a busy man.

Whenever possible, Jarvis ( _the man not the AI_ ) checked on him, brought him little treats, sometimes even convinced Tony to come back into the kitchen instead. He'd known Tony was wasting his time, but it wasn't his place to explain that to a three year old.

Steve chattered excitedly, and Tony grinned. "I missed you to," he whispered.

Tony squeezed Steve a bit tighter, held him closer. He couldn't go back in time and give that lonely little boy the only thing he'd ever wanted and never received, but at least he could give it to Steve.

“You got heavier in the last half hour,” he accused once he’d picked him up. Steve was grinning at him, wide eyed and ecstatic, like they’d been apart thirty years instead of thirty minutes. “What have they been feeding you?”

“Okay, now I’ve seen everything,” Sam said. “Baby Steve was freaky enough  _before_  Captain America and Daddy Warbucks showed up.”

“Tony,” and that was Bruce, patient but curious, and the rest of the conversation in the room died down. “Want to fill us in?”

Tearing his eyes away from Steve, Tony glanced at each of them in turn, ending with James. He looked calmer now. Tony would have liked to believe it was because of his little pep-talk, but it likely had more to do with keeping up a brave front for the team, for Steve.

James gave him a nod.

“In case it isn’t obvious, the role of Captain America will now be played by Bucky Barnes.” Steve wanted to make his approval of this known, so Tony let him finish before continuing. “Nicely put. Baby Cap is right. We have to assume the worst, and act accordingly.”

The team shifted, sharing glances, but no one had anything to say, which was either good, or really bad.

“Widow, I want you to oversee training. 0600 hours, people. Barnes shouldn’t have any issue mimicking Steve’s fighting style, but I’m not taking any chances. We all have ingrained responses to each other we’ll need to overcome.”

Natasha nodded her approval. “Hawkeye and Falcon, you’re with me.” She ignored Sam’s quiet, “I guess that means I’m staying here?” and asked, “How long do you need Thor and Hulk for?”

“Hard to say. We’ll know better once Bruce and I fire up the flux capacitor in,” Tony glanced at his watch, frowned when he realized how late it had gotten, “five hours and thirty-one minutes.”

“I stand ready to assist,” Thor announced solemnly.

James took a step forward, so that he was standing shoulder to shoulder with Tony. “As much as possible, it needs to be business as usual,” and it was strange hearing him sound so confident, when just minutes before he’d appeared broken beyond repair. “I’ll be calling the shots once we’re in the field. I need to know  _now_ if that’s a problem for anyone.”

Everyone looked at each other, and Tony wasn’t surprised in the least when Clint answered for the group. “No problems here, Captain.” He looked left and right, added, “and that’s speaking for all of us.”

“Good. Wrap it up and get some rest,” James ordered. “We’ve got a long day ahead of us. JARVIS, make sure Sam has everything he needs.”

“Of course, sir.”

“Stark,” and Tony surprised himself a little by straightening up when his name was called, finding he now had Captain America’s full attention. “Eat something.”

Tony’s eyes widened, and he opened his mouth to protest, but then his baby human shield was being taken from him, and Steve didn’t seem to mind. He was clapping and kicking his feet happily, and Tony struggled not to lose his mind completely over the surreality of Captain America cradling baby Steve Rogers. He wasn’t the only one, apparently.

“No, I take it back,  _that_  is the freakiest thing I’ve ever seen.” Sam shook his head.

“Thanks for sticking around, Sam.” James gathered up the bags of baby supplies, and nodded towards the elevator. “We’re heading upstairs.” Tony tried once again to open his mouth, but was cut off with yet another order. “Eat. Something.”

Two sets of blue eyes gave him The Captain America Look, so Tony threw his hands up in surrender, and went to see if there was anything left from dinner that he could inhale before joining them upstairs.

He was halfway through destroying something spicy while leaning over the sink ( _he really had no idea what it was, he was just going through the motions of eating_ ) when Clint made a very obvious show of approaching him. He could only assume Natasha had passed on the “no sneaking up on Tony” orders, which he appreciated more than… more than…

“Something I appreciate a lot?” he muttered to himself with a half-shrug. He shoved a hunk of bread into his mouth, and chewed thoughtfully. “Not very good, Stark.”

“Was that supposed to make sense?” Clint asked, squinting. Tony shook his head and motioned for Clint to get on with whatever it was he’d come over for. “You and James okay?”

There were a lot of ways to answer that question. He could try to explain how dirty he felt for forcing James ( _of all people_ ) to assume another persona against his will. Tony could tell Clint how proud he was, how grateful, how lucky he felt that James would let him do it, and still love him afterwards.

He could try to explain how terrified he was. How he selfishly wanted to foist Steve on someone else so he could go upstairs, and try to find the energy to fuck James, to just lose himself in the other man and forget the rest of the world existed. Maybe run away after. Far away.

But Clint was really asking if things  _between_  the two of them were okay, was thinking of the tail end of the argument he'd walked in on. And yes, he felt like shit, and James was probably feeling twice as shattered, but they still had each other. That was pretty amazing.

_The_ _world falling to pieces, and having to put it back together again—that’s us in a nutshell, Antoshka._

He grinned wildly up at Clint, and shrugged again. “We’re getting married.”

“You finally asked?” Clint’s entire face lit up.

“Er, well, sort of,” Tony grimaced. “More like ordered. But, whatever, verbs aside, it’s all the same.”

Clint shook his head, rubbed the back of his neck, and then pulled Tony into a rough hug. “Congratulations.” Thankfully, before he could get too teary eyed, the hug ended. “Anyone else know?”

Tony shook his head. “Just happened.” Clint was grinning at him, though, and it was stupid how much it meant to Tony to see it. “You’re a real good friend to him,” he said seriously, poking Clint in the chest with a finger. “So I already know you’ll be there for him through this when I can’t be. Right?”

Clint clapped him on the shoulder. “Damn straight.” He folded his arms across his chest. “Which is why I suggest you take your food upstairs to eat it, idiot.”

For reasons beyond his understanding, that option hadn’t occurred to him. “Wow, thanks, yes, I  _am_  an idiot.” He grabbed another hunk of bread, another container of… something, and headed for the elevator. Clint gave him a thumbs up before the doors shut.

It was surreal, seeing Captain America’s shield propped up in the entryway of their suite. A little further in, he found boots, and the top half of the uniform was draped over a chair.

The man himself had pulled on a light grey tanktop, still had on his pants, although he was barefoot. Since they were without a crib, James had constructed some strange baby pen by rearranging the furniture, and gathering up copious cushions, pillows, and blankets to serve as bedding.

The lights had been dimmed, but Tony could still make out where Steve was lying facedown in the middle of it all, his mouth hanging open as he snored softly. James was standing nearby, watching him, face blank.

He looked up as Tony approached, and jerked his head in the direction of the bedroom, eyeing the food Tony was still carrying with approval.

It took longer than he’d expected to turn off the lights and walk away from Steve’s vulnerable, sleeping form. Once he was in the bedroom, James closed the door, but not all the way; he left it open a crack, and made a quiet request of JARVIS to let them know if Steve woke up.

"Did he conk out on his own, or did you have to knock him on the head with something?"

"Ha ha." James tried and failed to stifle an epic yawn. "He's exhausted, just like the rest of us."

Tony took another spoonful of food, not wanting to be accused of not following orders, his thoughts immediately wandering. James, rutting against him, the two of them clinging to each other desperately in Operations, the angry wound down his side, the taste of tears.

The jagged nature of his improvised haircut wasn’t necessarily flattering, but it could have been worse. Coupled with his mood, it gave James a strange, feral look, and made Tony want to run his hands through it, try to neaten it up, maybe. Or get it real messy.

He had a big soft spot ( _or maybe it was a hard spot?_ ) for the long hair, but there was something about the shorter look that did wonderful, wonderful things for the shape of James's jaw, and his eyes, and those cheekbones.

Unfortunately, while the mind was willing, at the moment his flesh was feeling especially weak. He set down his dinner, unable to bring himself to eat any more, and stretched, feeling everywhere his body hurt which was, well, almost everywhere.

James didn’t speak, simply unbuttoned his pants, yanked them off, and tossed them across the room. Tony watched the flexing muscles of his back, of his thighs, and ass, and arms as he crawled across the bed, and flopped down face first, assuming a position much like the one Steve had opted for.

“J, lower the lights,” Tony asked, keeping his voice low. “Gimme about twenty percent or so.”

On the bed, James pushed himself up on his elbows, then managed to roll onto his back with a huff of discomfort. Even with the low lighting, Tony could see where the tank top was sticking to his wound.

“You should let me dress that.”

James snorted, pushing his bangs out of his face. “Not moving.”

Tony couldn’t really argue with that. He chucked his own pants, not bothering with taking off his t-shirt, and frowned at the clock. “Get us up at 5:35,” he requested around a yawn.

“Make that 0500, JARVIS.” His wince of dismay prompted James to add, “Stevie’ll need to be fed, and changed. And dressed.”

Which made sense, but also sucked. Tony crawled into the bed beside James, and for a moment, the two of them just stared up at the ceiling together, Tony enjoying the warmth spreading out from everywhere their bodies touched.

At the moment, even the idea of rolling over sounded like a Herculean feat, especially since Tony was struggling to keep his eyes open, but he wanted to be closer. It shouldn’t have surprised him that James met him halfway, the two of them colliding in a tangle of limbs, until arms were around him, and a head was tucked under his chin.

He only just had the wherewithal to begin appreciating how amazing James felt in his arms, how good it felt to be so close, when the body curled against his own began shaking.

Tony’s stomach churned, the food he’d eaten now feeling like lead, his own eyes tearing up even as James began sobbing. It was quiet, and strangled, and Tony knew he was responsible for some of those tears, even if he’d had no choice.

James clung to him, and Tony pulled him as close as possible, rocked him, ran his hands up and down James’s back, held him tight, cried with him. “I know,” he whispered over and over.

Because he did.

They cried together, James’s hands fisted into the fabric of Tony’s t-shirt, all legs and arms and tears, tangled up together in the center of the bed, until they were kissing. Tony tried to kiss every inch of James’s face, his jaw, along his shoulder, then started over again with his mouth.

“It shouldn’t be me,” James whispered, but Tony cut him off with another kiss, stroking his palm up along the nape of James’s neck, which seemed vulnerable and exposed now that his hair was no longer hiding it.

He tried to kiss away the tears, but that was a lost cause. Instead, he just held on tight, stroked his hair and told him, "it's just the two of us here, you don't have to be anyone but yourself."

This seemed to work, he could feel James's breath steadying, the sobs slowing down, so he added, "We only ever have to be James and Antoshka, here."

Tony pulled back enough to be able to look into James’s eyes, which were red, and puffy, his dark lashes clumped together with tears. He was still the most beautiful thing Tony had ever seen. Slowly, he dragged his thumb along the curve of James’s stubbled jaw, traced the shell of his ear, before sliding his fingers into his shorn hair.

“It’s just you and me,” he whispered, kissing him softly.

James sighed, and when he spoke, Tony could feel him shaping the words against his lips. "And Steve."

Tony swallowed around the lump in his throat, and waited until James would look him in the eyes again. “Not  _here_ ,” he swore, kissing him again, possessively, hungrily. “And not here, not like  _this_ ,” he added, pressing James’s hand just to the side of the arc reactor, so he could feel the beating of Tony’s heart. “That’s just you and me.”

James took his hand back, took Tony’s with it, placed it over his own heart. “You and me,” he agreed with a nod. He took a deep breath, and exhaled shakily. “I’m so… fucking mad at him, Antoshka. I hate that I'm mad at him."

"You're allowed to be," Tony swore. "Hey, I'm not thrilled, either. In fact, we can tag-team lecture him once this is over, and he's taller than us again."

"Don't you mean  _if_?"

“When. Definitely when. We’ll get him back,” Tony promised, “you’ll see.” He pressed their foreheads together, dug deep, and found a brave little smile somewhere. “He’s got best man duties to fulfil, remember.”

James nodded.

“I’m so, so sorry it has to be this way,” Tony whispered, stroking the side of his face. “I’m so sorry, and at the same time, I’m so fucking proud of you.”

“Shut up,” James hissed, but he pulled Tony closer, pressed his face against the side of Tony’s neck.

“And in love,” he added quietly, petting James. “Very much in love.”

“Damn right you are.”

Everything felt damp with tears, and slightly uncomfortable as a result, but that was fine. That was life. It was a hell of a lot better than the alternative.

Slowly, the body in his arms lost some of its tension, breathing shifting into something slow and steady, so Tony snapped a few times. JARVIS took the hint, turned off the lights, and he was left staring into the darkness, a sleeping James heavy in his arms.

And even though it felt like he’d only just closed his eyes, he must have slept, because suddenly the time on the clock had jumped ahead about twenty minutes. James was propped up on an elbow in the bed, rubbing at his face with his other hand, and groaning in annoyance, while JARVIS unnecessarily informed them that Steve had woken up.

Tony had figured that much out. “The screaming clued me in, J,” he grumbled. Steve was one hell of an effective alarm clock.

“I’m coming,” Tony shouted, but he was still disoriented, and somehow got his feet caught in the blankets, so instead of climbing out of bed, he fell out, face first. With a growl of frustration, he flopped onto his back, and started tugging furiously at the blankets, trying to disentangle himself.

“You okay?” he heard James ask, but didn’t bother to answer.

Finally free, Tony managed to stagger to his feet, shouting, “coming,” again, hoping Steve could hear him over his own racket.

He spun into the other room, managing to catch himself on the doorframe, and two seconds later he knocked over a lamp, despite JARVIS helpfully having raised the lighting levels for him. “Fuck me!”

“Onn,” Steve wailed.

Tony managed not to kill himself as he ran in, and found Steve standing in the middle of his baby shanty town, sucking on two of his fingers, bright red in the face, covered with tears and snot, and looking accusingly up at Tony. He’d stopped crying, at least, realizing he was no longer alone.

“Yes, yeah, m’here, hello,” Tony announced, climbing over a chair and down into the makeshift crib James had constructed. “Okay, babyface, c’mere, what’s the matter?”

Bleary eyed and only half awake, Tony used his own t-shirt to wipe Steve’s face clean, then checked his diaper ( _thankfully empty_ ), asked if he was hungry ( _and look at that, Steve had learned to shout the word no!_ ), and then collapsed against the cushions in defeat.

“I give up, squirt,” he murmured, and managed to get his legs partially covered by blanket. “Wake me up when you figure it out.”

Almost immediately, Steve flopped back down beside him, draped himself half on top of Tony, one tiny fist balled up against the faint glow of the arc reactor.

“Mm, right, alone in the dark,” Tony mumbled, “I didn’t like that either.” He curled an arm around Steve. “Used to have nightmares, could never find anyone,” he slurred sleepily. “Nightmares about being the only person left on the planet.”

His eyes were already closed, but he managed to crack them back open a moment later when he heard James shuffle into the room.

“Shut up in here,” he grumbled, but he was already climbing over the couch to join them.

“Bu bu.”

With a grunt of discomfort, James shifted around until the three of them were able to share the limited space, Steve nestled safely between them. Because he was the best, JARVIS lowered the lights a bit more without being asked, leaving enough to supplement the glow of the reactor, in case Steve started freaking out again.

Fumbling, Tony reached for and found James’s hand, held on, and let his eyes close again.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Ah, they finally get to SLEEP! Like, for five minutes. But in a cuddle pile, so that counts for something. Also, they're getting married. Never forget it, even when the feels happen. 
> 
> Also, SAM! Hi, Sam! Thanks for coming to the party.


	9. Chapter 9

Tony jerked awake when something heavy landed on top of him and started bouncing, which was incredibly unfortunate, because he really had to pee.

“ _Whadafuckishappening_?” he whined, shoving the weight aside, trying to reorient himself. Also, his eyes definitely didn’t want to open, and his head hurt, and so did his face for that matter, and he was pretty sure he was under attack.

“Help?”

Struggling against gravity, Tony managed to prop himself up on an elbow, and half crack one eye open. Steve was grinning at him, had his face shoved close enough that Tony had to lean back a bit before he could focus enough to even figure out that the blurry shape was their new roommate.

“Onn!” Steve shrieked happily, lunging at him again. 

Tony flopped back down with a moan of despair. “James?” he called, desperately. He wasn’t sure if he received a reply or not, because he couldn’t hear over Steve’s excited chatter. “Yes, okay, we’re awake and excited, yay!”

It took a minute to fight his way upright in the makeshift baby bed, and even then he only managed to stand, swaying on his feet while Steve hugged his legs. Tony ruffled Steve’s hair, struggled with a jaw cracking yawn, the engine of his mind refusing to crank.

James stalked into the room half dressed, clean shaven, smelling good, and holding coffee. His hair was damp and combed back, some of the irregular longer, ragged strands clinging to his neck, and Tony wanted to just throw him to the floor and…

“What happened to your face?”

Blinking himself back from fantasyland, Tony accepted the mug of coffee he was being offered, and grinned stupidly as James took him by the chin and tilted his face up to the light. He prodded Tony’s cheek with two fingers, which, “Ow! What the... Oh, right, fell out of bed, remember?”

James shook his head, but he was smiling in a way that made Tony's chest do funny things. "C'mon, get moving."

"Make me," Tony answered around his mug, waggling his eyebrows suggestively.

"No time. We let you sleep in, so you only have twenty minutes to deal with that bed head. I'll finish getting Stevie ready."

Tony pouted, but there was no point arguing. He'd given the order for the early start, couldn't really skip out on what was certain to be another horribly long day, no matter how exhausted he was.

James tugged a chair out of the way so Tony didn't have to try climbing while drinking coffee, and took Steve's hand. It was strange watching them walk off together holding hands, James leaning to one side and moving slowly so Steve could keep up. James glanced over his shoulder and smiled, and Tony had the oddest impulse to run after them. It didn't really make sense, they were only going into the bedroom so James could finish dressing, but it felt a little like he'd never see them again.

Tony choked down the rest of his coffee despite it burning his mouth, and rushed through his morning routine, struggling with the weird paranoia that was settling into his chest. He'd probably seen too many cheesy movies, or maybe it was only that life rather consistently pulled the rug out from under him, but having good news and something to look forward to in the middle of a crisis felt like having a target painted on his back.

In a cheesy newsreel announcer voice, he said, "What's this? Tony Stark is attempting happiness? Arm the missiles, boys!"

"Sir?"

Tony jerked just before dragging the razor across his cheek. "Daddy's a little high strung right now, J, so maybe keep that in mind when I'm holding sharp things? Or anything volatile for that matter."

"My apologies."

"No, I’m sorry.” Tony summoned some cheer, and tried again. “Good morning! Everything okay?"

"I wished to inform you that Ms. Potts-Hogan has done her best to clear your schedule for the foreseeable future, although she does indicate you will be needed in Japan next month.”

Tony grimaced. “Steve better be wiping his own ass by then.”

“Quite. Additionally, Thor has prepared breakfast. A plate will be waiting for you in the lab."

Tony's stomach grumbled in anticipation. "Great, tell him thanks. Oh, maybe let James know so he doesn't waste time making anything?"

"Already done. Oh, and sir? Allow me to extend my congratulations on your forthcoming nuptials."

Tony's heart did a little flip flop of combined happiness and terror. "Thanks, JARVIS. Uh, which reminds me, can you keep an extra close eye on him until this all blows over? I want him in quarantine if he so much as sneezes.” Tony took another quick pass with his razor. “Maybe I should build him a suit."

"A suit might negate the purpose of him assuming the Captain’s identity.”

“Party pooper.”

“I  _shall_  do my utmost to keep him safe, sir. But, might I suggest you share your fears for his safety, lest he misinterprets your behavior as having second thoughts?"

Tony ducked his head and grinned. "Wow, my paranoia is that obvious?"

"You spent a good portion of your shower conversing with yourself over bad luck, retiring police officers being shot on their last day of duty, and something involving armed missiles aimed at your happiness."

Tony laughed. "Right, thanks for looking out for me."

"My pleasure."

Tony wiped his face clean of any residual shaving cream, then headed into the bedroom to dress as quickly as possible. On the far side of the room, he spotted the clothes James had been wearing the day before this had all started, tossed there as they'd made their way to the bed, attention focused entirely on each other. It felt like a lifetime ago.

Ditching the t-shirt he was holding, Tony snatched up James's discarded shirt, and pulled that on instead. The fabric was soft against his skin, and smelled of James, and that was much, much better.

Tony found them waiting in the kitchen when he finished up. James was in full Captain America mode from the neck down. Baby Cap was swinging his legs enthusiastically, perched on the edge of a chair munching away while James held on to make sure he didn't topple off.

"Whoa, what’s going on in here, are you eating my breakfast?"

Steve made a happy sort of sound and tipped his head back to grin up at Tony, mouth full of half chewed something or other. It was stupid how cute the kid was. Unable to help himself, Tony leaned over and gave him a kiss on the forehead ( _and yes, he did enjoy that this made Steve squeal happily, thank you very much_ ) before stalking over to the coffee machine.

When he looked up from his mug, he found James staring at him, and Tony had just enough time to start feeling guilty for indulging in the domesticity of the moment, when he realized why James was staring.

It was the shirt.

Keeping one hand on Steve’s shoulder so he couldn’t go anywhere, James rose to his feet and stood behind Steve’s chair, nodding for Tony to join him.

Mm, and that was nice, getting pulled in close, having James nuzzle his jaw, and bring his mouth up against his ear. "Did you jerk off while you were in there?" he asked, voice soft, and raspy, his breath coming in a hot puff against Tony’s skin, and that was just so unbelievably _unfair_.

Tony snorted into his coffee, glad the question had been asked in Russian. Thor might claim Steve had a normal baby's brain, but Tony was convinced he still had pretty decent comprehension. At least, he seemed to be grasping everything Tony had been laying on him so far.

"Uh, no," he managed eventually.

“Good, me neither.”

James’s hand slid down to squeeze his ass while he made a rumbling sound of appreciation, dragging his teeth up along the column of Tony’s throat, eventually working his way over to his mouth.

This was also completely unfair, because it was so definitely not a “good morning” kiss, or an “enjoy your day of science and babysitting” kiss, it was down and dirty with tongue and teeth. It was an “I’m going to make you come so hard you scream” kiss.

When he was done, Tony was left standing there dazed, with a completely inappropriate ( _considering their company_ ) erection and a cup of coffee he was desperately trying not to spill on himself. James eyed him up and down with a satisfied smirk, and Tony burst out laughing, not sure what else to do with his surplus of emotions.

“Sirs, you have five minutes and counting.”

“Thanks, JARVIS.” James’s smile faltered, and Tony’s chest ached to see it. When he spoke again, there was no sign of the previous playfulness; it was all sad resignation. “Time to go be Captain America.”

Tony set his mug of coffee down, grabbed hold of James, and hugged him tight, reluctant to let him go. "I love you," he whispered.

James gave him another kiss, this time against the bruise on his cheek, said, "love you, too. Try to stay in one piece until I see you again, okay?"

Tony snapped off a salute. "Yessir. You, too."

“Alright. Time to get a move on.” James sighed while disentangling himself, and to Tony’s surprise, he leaned over and actually gave Steve a kiss goodbye. “Keep him out of trouble for me, will ya?”

Steve agreed to do his best, and the two of them watched as James exited the kitchen. Again, there was the strange feeling of being left behind, the worry that something horrible was going to happen to James as soon as he was out of sight.

_None of us know how much time we have left._

Which was true, but also something he desperately tried not to dwell on, mostly so he didn’t spend his waking hours curled in the fetal position under his desk. It would have been good to keep in mind when planning his proposal, though. Tony was kicking himself, because they could have already been married if he hadn’t wasted so much time psyching himself out.

Now that it’d happened, and James had said yes, and it was out there—a real, legitimate thing that was happening, and not a hope, or a dream—Tony wanted to skip ahead. Part of him was tempted to see if James would agree to elope. They could sort the legally binding half of things, then have the ceremony  _after_ , once Steve was out of diapers again.

It wasn’t particularly romantic, though, and James deserved some romance, especially after the way the proposal had gone down. Besides, Tony wanted to dance at their wedding, and have their friends there on the big day. Once upon a time, he’d have called it cheesy, but now Tony found he wanted photos, video, rings, and to spend way too much money on food and fancy clothes. The whole 9 yards. He was only getting married once, so he should at least do it right. As long as James was also interested in that sort of wedding, of course.

Which meant they had to wait, their lives effectively on hold while Steve had his spirit quest. And, according to Thor, it sounded like Steve's success hinged upon Tony and James, and their ability to parent their best friend, so he was probably screwed.

Love. It all came back to love, somehow.

He loved James. What they had was at the top of Tony’s priority list; the rest could fall to shit, but if he still had James, he’d find a way to bounce back. Sacrificing their little world of two to take on the responsibility of raising Steve ( _especially if they were going to continue being heroes_ ) was nightmarish to consider, but if that morning had shown him anything, it was that they’d figure it out, find a way to make it work.

What had him more concerned was his inability to shake Bruce’s line of inquiry from the day before. Technically, his reasoning was still valid—telling James that he’d spent the better part of his life harboring one hell of a crush on Captain America wasn’t exactly a great way to start out a relationship, but it wasn't like they were "starting out" anymore. They were going to get married. James had a confidence, a self assuredness that had been absent back in the beginning.

All of that left him feeling sick with guilt, like he was sitting on a ticking time bomb of a secret. Especially if Steve’s current predicament was his fault.  _Especially_  if James was going to continue on as Captain America.

“So, I don’t really have a choice, right?”

“Hm?” Bruce looked up from his display, eyes unfocused. “Wait, were you talking to  _me_?” Tony threw his hands up in the air, and looked around the lab. “Sorry, I checked out somewhere around, ah, poddy training, maybe?”

“Bruce, I have been, and always shall be your friend, but listening? Not your strong suit.”

Steve decided to chime in and point out that this criticism wasn’t really fair since Tony had been talking for about two hours straight, and the conversation had originally been with Steve, not Bruce. It was only natural that he’d turned it into background noise and focused on the task at hand, rather than wasting valuable science time on Tony’s rambling.

“Okay, fine, fair, but I’d still like his opinion.”

Bruce pushed away from his desk so that he and his wheeled chair quickly crossed the distance between them, until Tony found himself face to face and knees to knees with a concerned friend. “Did you get any sleep last night?”

Tony squirmed. “Not much.”

“And before all this, you’d been burning the midnight oil working on the War Machine upgrades?”

More squirming. “Maybe.”

Bruce nodded, his serious expression momentarily faltering as Steve reached forward from his position on Tony’s lap and tried to pull his glasses off of his face. Tony intercepted the tiny hand, and sighed.

“I hope you won’t take it the wrong way if I tell you that you look like shit,” Bruce quirked a smile his way. “We’ve been at this most of the day. I’m sure Steve could use a break. Maybe even a nap?”

“In other words, I’m annoying, and distracting, and not actually helping any.” Bruce pushed his lips into a thin line, and raised his eyebrows. “Right, sorry, that isn’t what you said, I’m doing that thing you hate.”

“Because you’re exhausted.”

Tony chewed on his lower lip and studied Bruce’s face. “I have to tell him, don’t I?”

Bruce sighed, but at least he was smiling encouragingly. “If you have to ask, then the answer is probably yes.”

“Good rule of thumb.” Tony rubbed absently at the bridge of his nose. “ _Fuck_. And yes, before you say it, I know he isn’t going to dump me because of this, it’s just… I hate hurting him.” He exhaled shakily. “I hate seeing that haunted look back in his eyes. He’s being so brave, Bruce, and he's trying to be strong for me, and I just keep throwing more and more at him. It’s only a matter of time before he breaks.”

Bruce leaned forward, and rubbed his hands up and down Tony’s arms, almost as if trying to warm him. “Go take a nap,  _then_  talk with James. You’ll be glad you did in the end. I’ll let you know if I come up with anything here.”

Only, Tony skipped the part about taking a nap. His intentions were good, but after changing and feeding Steve, he found a top of the line crib in his suite, just waiting to be assembled. Of course, once he'd started doing that, he quickly decided it wasn’t up to snuff, and so he and Steve headed off to the workshop.

Once there, he managed an hour or so of work on the new project before Natasha distracted him, and he forgot all about fabricating a proper baby enclosure for their little soldier.

“How’d he do?”

Natasha didn’t answer him at first, attention focused on Steve. "Why is he wearing that?" she asked, pointing to the dunce cap.

"That was all his idea, don't look at me."

As if to prove Tony's point, Steve made a delighted noise and clapped his hands. Natasha shook her head, and finally answered Tony's question.

"Raw." She studied the schematics Tony was playing with. "Steve doesn't have quite the same  _enthusiasm_. Unless you knew to look, you'd chalk it up to Captain America having a bad day."

"Not good enough." Tony rubbed his temples, and crossed his arms over his chest. "J, footage if you don't mind."

"Not at all, sir."

Natasha leaned back against the edge of the worktable, and Tony resisted the urge to fidget as she watched him watching James. "Congrats, by the way."

Tony frowned as Captain America swung the shield, effectively blocking a vicious swing of Thor's hammer, his teeth bared in a vicious snarl. "Could say the same for you," he answered absently.

Natasha cracked her knuckles, and Tony shifted uncomfortably. "Hm?"

"Steve will cry if you murder me in front of him," Tony reminded her. "Shit. He's leading with the left way too much."

"We worked on that. It's a bit better now." Natasha eyed him critically. "Practice makes perfect. You're scheduled for a session at 17:00."

Tony pulled his eyes away from the video footage. "Today?" Natasha nodded. "Nat, that's ten minutes from now. Can't it wait?"

"Nope. I'll watch Steve, just explain to him that it's Avengers business like last time."

Tony scrubbed his hands over his face, and looked around at the mess that was his workshop, feeling torn in multiple directions. With a sigh, he leaned over the makeshift fence he'd hastily assembled, and pulled Steve into a hug, the dunce cap falling off in the process.

"You heard mean Auntie Natasha," Tony said. "I'll try not to be long. If you need me, JARVIS will call, okay?"

Tony had no idea if Steve understood or not, he'd just have to hope the kid didn't start screaming bloody murder as soon as he stepped away.

"Okay, he'll be hungry again in about an hour. He's maxed out on chicken, try to switch it up. Um, oh, diapers are there, and..."

"Go." Tony stopped babbling, and stared at Natasha. Despite the seriousness in her tone, the corner of her mouth was turned up in a smile. "You're under orders to spend at least one hour going at it with Barnes."

"Yes, okay, going. Be good," he added, kissing the top of Steve's head. "See you soon."

It wasn't until he was in the suit and standing opposite James that Natasha's wording clicked for Tony.

"Get out of the suit." James ordered.

No one else was around, there wasn't a simulation loaded, and James looked as if he'd already spent the day fighting the entire world. Tony could see the exhaustion plainly, but James was also flushed pink, his hair sticking to his head a bit with sweat, and oh, he was yanking off his gauntlets, and yes, right, "going at it" now made more sense.

By the time he'd gotten out of the armor, James was already there, reaching for him.

"C'mere," and James had a hold of him, pulled them together, was kissing down into Tony's mouth with great enthusiasm. “Been thinking about this all day,” he sighed, sucking Tony’s lower lip into his mouth.

"Mm," was all Tony could come up with for a moment. "Hey, uh, actually, I needed to talk to you."

"Did you find something out?" He sounded so hopeful.

Tony groaned. James had his hands on his ass, squeezing, and it felt like he was about to pull a repeat of what had gone down in Operations. "Um, not really. This is..." James licked his lips, and Tony had to look away before his libido convinced him to chicken out.

Sensing the mood shift, James let go of his ass, hands coming up to frame Tony's face instead, thumbs stroking along his cheeks. "What's wrong?"

Tony chewed the inside of his lip and shrugged. "Okay, first, I'm terrified something's going to happen to prevent us from getting married."

"Me too."

Tony's eyes widened as he looked up, finding James once again looked serious, concerned, maybe even a little terrified. "Not, like, one of us changing our minds, but..."

"Me too, Antoshka," he repeated, and his emphasis made it clear he didn't particularly want to discuss all the horrible things that could potentially take place to prevent them from marrying each other.

"Right. Ah, and, second, this thing I want to talk to you about, um. It's more... It wasn't relevant at all, but now with what's happening with Steve, maybe it  _is_ , even though, I promise you, it  _isn't_."

James let go of him and took a step back, face scrunched up in confused concern. "I'm gonna need that again, maybe in English this time."

Tony swallowed. "I love you, and when we get married, I want to do it in style, with all of our friends there," James nodded, a hesitant smile on his face, "and not having any secrets. Even ones that aren't  _really_  secrets so much as they are irrelevancies from the past."

James blinked. "I still don't..."

"I used to have a thing for Steve. Or, Captain America, I guess." Tony blurted, squeezing his eyes shut. "And, so... before we got married, I thought that you should know. Even though it’s ancient history, like I said."

When he opened his eyes again, James was just staring at him, mouth hanging slightly open. "You..." he blinked, and it was strange how young he looked, so incredibly young and vulnerable. "When?" and it came out soft, as if he didn't have the strength to do more than exhale his question.

"Before. I mean,  _way_  before, I hadn’t even met you yet, and, ah, it wasn't reciprocated. Nothing ever happened, just... It was a little weird for me when we first met, but then Steve and I actually became friends, and I moved on, then we found  _you_ , and we—well, you know that part, you were there."

James's mouth trembled noticeably as he processed this information, even as he took a step back, eyes focused on the floor. After a moment or two, he looked up, pinned Tony with his gaze. "How long?"

Tony came up with a dozen or so ways to deflect this question, but shoved the impulse aside. "Since puberty. Or... maybe longer."

James smiled at this, and it was eerie, because it was almost the spitting image of one of Tony's own smiles, one of his wrecked, resigned, self doubting smiles. 

"Oh," he answered, all the strength absent from his voice, "so just for most of your life then. I can see how it’d slip your mind."

"It... Look, I don't know how to explain. You have to understand, growing up, Captain America was dead to the rest of the world, but not to Howard, not by a long shot. He was  _alive_ , and right there, wedged between me and my dad, and... Shit, half the time I hated him, the other half I wanted to..."

He quickly pumped the brakes on his rambling, but James had already begun filling in the blanks. For just a moment, there was what could only be described as barely suppressed rage flickering in his eyes. "He’s a good looking fella."

Tony felt queasy. He also wished he'd actually taken Bruce’s advice on napping. He wasn't doing a good job of this  _at all_.

"So’s Ryan Gosling," he pointed out. “Only difference between me and a bunch of other fanboys and girls is that I wound up getting to know my celebrity crush.”

James was nodding, but his jaw was tight, and his eyes were bright with unshed tears when he looked up. "Do you still love him?" his voice cracked on the question, his head turning to the side as if he was expecting his hair to fall forward, hide his face. When it failed to do so, he winced.

Seeing it made Tony feel as if someone had sucker punched him. He stepped forward, grabbed James by the shoulders and shook him. “Hey, it wasn’t like that, it wasn’t  _anything_  like what I feel for you, not even close.” James looked up, but there was doubt in his sad eyes. “It was hero worship, and… and daddy issues, and a long grocery list of neuroses, and at the time it  _felt_ like love. But I didn’t know any better, because I hadn’t met you yet.”

James shook his head. "Do you?"

"Of course I love Steve," Tony snapped. He hated having to defend himself over something as intangible as feelings. "So do you. But I'm not  _in love_  with him."

With a shaky sigh, James ran his hands over his face, and started walking away.

"Uh, hey… wait?"

James spun on his heels and held his arms out wide. "What?” he snapped, his eyes blazing. “What did you expect? That I’d just shrug this off?"

Tony blinked, opened and closed his mouth a few times. "Hadn't really thought that far, to be honest."

To his surprise, James laughed at this, which shook some of the tears from his eyes. He wiped at them and shrugged. "I'm tired," he announced, his voice thick with emotion. "Yesterday felt like a year, and then today… I managed to scrape together some time for us, and now  _this_?" He cleared his throat, and looked at Tony beseechingly. "I just..."

Tony wasn't sure what he'd expected, but with five long strides, James was on him, had him wrapped up in his arms, suspended between the Earth and James, his toes only just skimming the ground.

"All I wanted was a moment," James finished, setting him back down, and pressing his face into the curve of Tony's shoulder. “To pretend everything is okay.” He shook in Tony’s arms, and all he could think about was the night before, holding James as he wept.

"I'm sorry," Tony carded his fingers through James's hair. "I know, that's all I've been saying lately, but..."

Warm lips moving against his, even as James shook, even as his control slipped. Tony could only groan, hold on, try to breathe around the pain in his chest. James waited until he was pliant, and distracted, and then asked his question. "Why are you telling me now?"

"In case..." and then he stopped, blinking, realizing what he was about to say.

James's eyes were dark, staring right down into Tony's with a questioning intensity Tony hadn't had directed his way in quite some time. "You've decided this is your fault." He opened his mouth to protest, but James was already closing his eyes and stepping away. "Loki said this was about  _Steve_. About something _he_  needs to do for himself."

"Yes, but magic is bullshit, and Loki lies. It's kind of his thing."

“If your feelings for him are ancient history, why would you...” James trailed off, licked his lips, and did a fair job of biting back a laugh that sounded more like a sob. "Unless it isn’t? Do you still think about fucking him?”

Just watching the way he struggled to get the question out had Tony’s heart feeling like it was about to punch out of his chest, the panic hitting with the force of a tidal wave. He wasn’t sure why it hadn’t occurred to him that James might go there, but now the words just hung in the room, sucking up all the oxygen.

“No!” he couldn’t say it fast enough. “No, no, no. You, I think about  _you_ , James, you’re  _all_ I think about, I promise, just… You have to...  _please,_  tell me you believe me?”

His face was shuttered though, mouth quirked to the side. “Tony, right from the beginning, I  _asked_ you, I fucking asked, and…”

Tony rushed forward and grabbed his hands. "The morning after our first kiss I woke up and decided then and there to stop drinking. From a  _kiss_. Something that Pepper and Rhodey had been begging me to do for years! JARVIS can corroborate. That's how serious I was about us. Don't you dare accuse me of lying, because I  _didn't_. There was never anything  _between_  me and Steve for you to ruin."

Sad blue eyes watched him and Tony felt his spirits sinking further.

"I was... I was so terrified you wouldn't give me a chance. I can't imagine what I would have done if you hadn't."

James stared at their hands. "I'm tired," he said again, sounding broken. When he looked up, Tony could see it; James was only just hanging on. His voice was tight with anger when he continued. "Do you feel better at least? Because  _I_  don't. Not even a little. I wish you hadn't told me. Not today, not  _now_. While I’m," he swallowed again, pushed the words out, the muscle in his jaw jumping with restraint, “standing here, wearing  _this_.”

Suddenly, Tony felt the weight of all of the ways in which he could have handled things better slam into him like a semi truck. There James stood, hair ragged, his red rimmed, weary eyes full of anger and sorrow and confusion and  _hurt_. So much hurt.

James stood there in a modified version of the uniform his best friend was meant to be wearing, trying to fill those shoes despite the pain it brought him. Tony knew full well that James was scared. He didn’t think he measured up. Felt unworthy of wearing the stars and stripes. Thought he’d somehow taint the image of Captain America, but he was doing it anyway, for his friend, and for the Avengers, and because Tony had ordered him to.

Tony knew a thing or two about competing against Captain America for attention and affection, and wondered how he would feel if their roles were reversed. If James had told  _him_  about a lifetime of misplaced feelings for Captain America, would Tony ever really believe that someone would chose  _him—_ with all his problems, and personality defects, and neuroses _—_ over the living legend?

"Shit."

James pulled his hands free of Tony’s, and began walking off again, pausing to scoop up his helmet and gauntlets along the way. After a moment lost to processing what was happening, Tony followed as he marched to the elevators. 

“Hey, look, this, I did this all wrong. Please, can we just, I don’t know, sit down, and…”

“No.” And that? That was the Captain America voice.

“Oh.” Tony folded his arms across his chest, tucking his hands under his arms, trying to minimize the shaking. “Okay.” Taking a deep breath, he squared his shoulders, let James see how scared he was, and said, “Hey, ah, just in case something horrible happens, please, please believe me when I say I love you. So fucking much, James.”

James met his eyes for a moment. “I love you, too.”

And then the elevator doors closed.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Um... I'm so sorry. This is an evil cliffhanger. The next chapter is a long one, and also emotional, but will end with much better feelings, I promise!! 
> 
> As someone re-reading "Mature Adults Conversing" recently commented on, Tony absolutely deflected when James asked him about the whole him and Steve thing, which is what he's referring to when pointing out he'd asked Tony if there was anything between him and Steve. Sure, Tony didn't lie, but he didn't exactly spill his guts, either. He'll do a lot of that in the next chapter, though.
> 
> Meanwhile, make yourself feel better. How about [Archaeologist Tony resurrects an Ancient Warrior Bucky](http://imaginetonyandbucky.tumblr.com/post/112780596244/i-saw-a-post-that-said-person-a-is-an)? or a whole lot of [Tony in lingerie porn](http://imaginetonyandbucky.tumblr.com/post/112966560946/imagine-tony-and-bucky-having-a-talk-about-kinks)?


	10. Chapter 10

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Tony and Bucky talk about Tony’s childhood / feelings about Captain America while growing up. A tiny potential trigger warning, Tony touches lightly on something Bucky suspected back in _Tactical Advantage_ :
>
>> He had the sinking suspicion that once upon a time, someone hadn’t shown the same level of courtesy to Tony. Had to swallow past the anger, the sorrow, that bubbled up at the thought.
> 
> BUT! I promise, they’re so okay, and it’ll feel better by the end of this chapter.

Iron Man had once flown through a wormhole in space without hesitation despite knowing he had no way home, and no chance to say goodbye to the people he loved. He had been terrified, and awestruck by what he had seen on the other side, had felt the strangest mix of profoundly alone and privileged, but he didn’t regret his choice. A life should count for  _something_ , after all, and his… Well, now, maybe it would.

Iron Man had tumbled back to Earth, and things had happened  _after_  that, but Tony Stark only actually remembers bits and pieces. The rest he put together from various video sources, conversations, news reports, and JARVIS.

This is what he actually  _remembers_  from that day: opening his eyes to find Captain America staring down at him like suddenly he mattered; eating with the team; Pepper, wrapping him up in her arms and weeping, and the look in her eyes that seemed to say, "I don't know how much more of this I can take."

Shock, that was the problem, that was why he'd felt like he was wrapped in cotton, and only just managing to find his way through the rest of that long, long day. It'd caught up with him eventually, and he'd started processing, and then, much later, the anxiety attacks had begun, and...

Tony Stark stood in the dark, empty suite he shared with James, staring at the partially assembled crib he'd abandoned hours and hours ago, Steve heavy and sleeping in his arms, but he couldn’t remember how he'd gotten there.

First things first. He sat down, shifting his grip on Steve in an attempt not to wake him. Second, he closed his eyes, and took a steadying breath.

"J? What time is it?"

When he answered, JARVIS spoke softly so as not to disturb Steve. "Half past two in the morning."

Tony opened his eyes. "Huh." Deep breath in. Deep breathe out. "Um, any idea where James is?"

"He has requested I not provide his specific location, but indicated I should feel free, if asked, to inform you he is in the company of Agent Barton."

"Okay." Tony let his head fall forward, as he fought off the wave of misery washing over him.

"Shall I call him back to the Tower?"

Tempting. Tony worried at his lower lip, considering. "Have they headed into a warzone in order to blow off steam?"

"They have not left the East Coast."

Tony nodded, took another deep breath. "Then he should come back when he's ready. I..." he swallowed, and tried again, keeping his voice low. "I hurt him. It isn't his job to make me feel better about that."

He sat, staring into the dark, feeling exhausted, and paralyzed, and terrified by the prospect of walking into their empty bedroom and closing his eyes.

"Maybe... let him know I asked after him and... and that I love him? But, only, ah, only if he wants the update. Or not, shit... Just, nevermind, don't bother him, JARVIS."

Tony rubbed his palms into his eyes, trying to push away the need to sleep. Push everything away. Unfortunately, he still had to make sure he hadn’t managed to do anything catastrophically stupid during the bits of his day he couldn’t remember.

"Um, so, I'm drawing a few blanks, J, wanna help me fill them in?"

"By all means."

Steve shifted against Tony's chest, a small, contented noise escaping in the process. Tony stared down at the tiny profile of his sleeping face, and found himself wondering if his father had ever watched him sleep when he was a baby. It seemed like a thing fathers would do, a natural inclination, that sort of animal instinct to protect one's offspring kicking in.

"Sir?"

Tony stirred, wondered how long his thoughts had wandered that time. "Sorry, got distracted."

"Might I recommend putting Baby Rogers to bed?" And while JARVIS didn’t say as much, Tony could feel the unspoken suggestion that he also get some much needed shut eye.

"Did I finish his crib?" It came out sharper than he'd intended, mostly because he was annoyed that he couldn't remember the answer to the question.

"Not as such. As I’m sure you recall, after returning to the workshop, you abandoned the project and opted to spend your time finishing the War Machine upgrades."

Tony straightened. "You'll need to go over all of that with a fine toothed comb before handing anything off to Rhodey."

JARVIS was talking to him like he was two seconds away from jumping off the Tower sans armor. "Of course, sir, as you've already requested."

Tony hopped to his feet, suddenly restless. Steve whined in protest, but Tony ignored him. His arms and back and  _everything_  ached, and all he wanted to do was  _let go_ , but he held on anyway as he paced around the half assembled store bought crib.

"Okay, sorry, ah, so, wanna clue me in on what I did after James left?"

"Sir has requested I inform him if you or Baby Rogers..."

"No, do not call him back, JARVIS!" Tony shouted, forgetting himself.

And that was enough to wake Steve. He immediately began crying, and it would have been fine, except he whined, "Bu bu," as if he knew James was missing and Tony was convinced he would have been okay otherwise, but...

One minute he was standing in his suite, and the next he was banging on Bruce's door, an upset toddler whimpering in his arms. Somewhere amidst the banging he realized what was happening, and stopped.

Tony planned to skulk off, but he only had time to shift his grip on Steve before the door flew open, and he was suddenly face to face with a grumpy looking, scantily dressed Natasha. She didn’t seem particularly surprised to see him, and almost immediately, Tony suspected JARVIS had provided a heads up, which would mean Bruce had sent Natasha to the door, which meant she was likely about to chase him off, which in turn meant he had nowhere to go, really, did he, just back upstairs, back to the dark, empty rooms.

Natasha must have understood he was about to run away, and so she moved quickly, plucked Steve from his arms and walked back inside, leaving Tony no choice but to follow. So he did. He walked after her as if walking to his execution, coming to a halt just inside, leaning against the closed door for support.

When Bruce came to retrieve him, face quirked up in confusion ( _he must have expected Tony to follow Natasha all the way inside_ ) all Tony could manage was a soft, “Sorry,” before he was wrapped up in a hug.

“Have you slept at all?” Bruce asked softly against his ear.

Tony sniffled, let Bruce take some of his weight, and shrugged. “Dunno. Can’t remember most of tonight, so maybe I was sleep-working.”

“Not great, Tony."

Since he’d already interrupted their evening, it seemed stupid to try to fight it, and so Tony allowed Bruce to lead him inside. With a sigh, he flopped down on the couch, then folded forward, elbows braced on his knees, head in his hands, staring at the floor.

“You told him, then?”

“Yup.”

The couch shifted as Bruce sat down beside him, and then there was a warm hand rubbing circles on his back, and Tony sighed again.

“You know, just for once, you should try taking my advice.”

Anyone else, and it would have sounded judgemental, or harsh, but it was Bruce so despite everything, or perhaps because of everything, Tony burst out laughing, hard enough that he had to sit up so he could actually get air back into his lungs.

“I ask you for it often enough,” Tony groaned, swiping at his eyes, “then I go off and do things the stupid way.”

From one of the other rooms, Tony could hear Natasha singing softly to Steve. He was still fussing despite this, soft, plaintive cries of “Onn,” audible beneath her pretty voice.

Tony turned to find Bruce watching him, the concern deep and evident. He knew Bruce would stay up all night listening if that was what Tony needed, but he was tired of talking. It felt like every conversation only lead to yet another conversation, each worse than the one that had come before.

“Can we sleep here?”

Bruce nodded his head in the direction of the singing, and got up. “Sure. Come on.”

Natasha looked up as they entered, but she didn’t stop singing or stroking Steve’s hair. He knew it was the sleep deprivation, but the entire scene felt incredibly surreal. Natasha's red hair seemed to flicker brightly, as if made from fire, her eyes reminding him of Loki's, and for a moment Tony was convinced he was already asleep. Maybe this entire experience—right from the moment he’d found Steve looking up at him through the eyes of a child—was a dream.

When Bruce touched him, he jumped, startled, and then was immediately distracted by the way Natasha’s expression had softened. “Get in the bed,” she ordered, and so Tony climbed in beside her and Steve, kicking off his shoes at the last minute.

He’d only realized once he was in the bed that they were in Bruce’s  _bedroom_ , not a spare room, and normally that would be fine, but things had changed. He was kind of worried Natasha was going to murder him for invading her privacy to such a colossal extent. Of course, a pillow over the face wouldn’t be the worst way to end the day he was having.

“I was thinking the couch, maybe,” he protested.

Natasha made herself more comfortable, then smiled sweetly at him over Steve's head. "Shut up."

"Stay," Bruce added, climbing in beside Tony. He flicked the lights off, and then the room was dark, save the glow of the arc reactor in his chest, only lessened slightly by the thin fabric of his t-shirt.

"I was wearing James's shirt before." He had no idea when he'd changed, or where the shirt had wound up, and it made him unspeakably sad.

A small, strong hand brushed his hair back from his forehead. "Hush," Natasha ordered, and then she began singing again.

Tony struggled against his own breathing for a moment, but slowly, the tension eased. Bruce was a warm presence beside him, a hand curled around Tony's wrist to keep him from going anywhere.

As soon as he'd climbed into the bed, Steve had tucked himself up under Tony's chin, and now he was breathing softly, already asleep. Tony knew Natasha was singing for him as she stroked his hair, and Tony made a mental note to buy her something ridiculously nice in the morning.

And then he fell asleep.

+

Fingers in his hair, gentle, soothing. Tony opened his eyes and frowned, momentarily confused by the lacy underwear hanging off of a lamp across the room until he remembered he'd sought refuge with Bruce and Natasha.

"How long was I asleep?" he asked, letting his eyes fall closed again. He was definitely buying Natasha her own island, couldn't believe she was still comforting him in the light of day.

"Not sure. Just got in."

Tony's eyes flew back open, even as he turned in the bed to find James there, staring at the same lamp, his expression dark.

"Hi." Tony watched the bobbing of James's Adam's apple, not trusting himself to say anything else.

He'd had his hair fixed, the ragged strands now cut neatly, the style reminiscent of something from the good old days. High and tight, with just the right amount of fade, it suited him, but that wasn't very surprising, all things considered.

With a sigh, James faced him, dark circles under his sad eyes, but, hey, it appeared the anger was gone. He stared down at Tony as if he was dreaming with his eyes open, not meeting his eyes as he dragged his knuckles down along Tony's cheek, then again along his jawline. It was tender yet somehow disconnected.

The moment stretched out, Tony's heart hammering away hard enough he was sure James could hear it, until Natasha yelled, "Mess up my sheets, and I end you." A slamming door made it clear they were alone.

Tony pressed his lips together to keep himself from laughing.

"So how long's that been a thing?" James asked, arching an eyebrow.

"No idea. Just found out yesterday. Or the day before? I don't know what day it is."

"Thursday," he answered with a sigh. "Thursday afternoon."

"You look tired."

James nodded, and then surprised Tony by kicking off his boots and climbing in the bed. Tony remained perfectly still, as if moving might make James realize what he was doing, cause him to change his mind. That didn’t happen, though. Once horizontal, James inched closer, slid an arm around Tony, and pulled him back against his chest, then buried his nose in Tony's hair.

He smelled distractingly  _wrong_  and Tony found himself trying to catalog the differences since they’d last held each other, as if that would provide insight as to where James had been and what he had done. Unfamiliar hair products. Cigarette smoke. Something antiseptic. Gunpowder. James sighed against the back of Tony’s neck, and he bit down on the inside of his cheek while adding hard liquor to the list.

"So. Tell me what it was like, then."

It wasn't a question, it was an order, but James didn't sound angry. He sounded almost eerily calm. Actually, it reminded Tony a bit of when he was having a shitty day and James made him sit down and explain why half of R&D needed to be fired, or why the Board hated him, or why Pepper was the only reason he wasn't destitute.

Tony swallowed, and stared at the lamp, not sure how to answer, exactly. Behind him, James shifted, brought his mouth to Tony's ear, whispered, "Antoshka."

"You don't really want to hear this, it's... the past, it doesn’t matter."

"It does. And you're telling me. Even the parts I don’t want to know. Especially those parts.”

For a moment, Tony let himself think of Steve, the tiny version of him, and wondered if he was okay, or if he was crying, scared and lonely and needing Tony. Just the idea of Steve calling out for him and receiving no answer made Tony feel sick to his stomach.

"I don't know how to start," he said in a rush, but that was a lie. "When I was five I made my own Captain America costume because I thought..." he exhaled slowly, tried again. "You know, sometimes the only time he'd even talk to me was if I caught him in the right mood, or at the right amount of tipsy, and I asked for him tell me stories about you guys."

Tony must have been quiet too long, because James kissed the edge of his jaw, and made a soft, encouraging noise.

"Yeah, well, I misjudged how he'd react. He, uh, he yanked the cowl off, and grabbed my arm, dragged me back to my room and made me take it off. Then I had to give it to him, and he got rid of it."

He remembered the way he'd trembled, cold and stripped down to his underwear, holding his arm and trying desperately not to cry. His father's face had been a mask of rage as he yelled, and broke the shield over his knee, swearing he'd ship Tony away if he ever caught him doing something like that again.

"Why?" James sounded surprised.

Tony laughed, dry and humorless. "I was disgracing his memory." He bit into his lip. "Captain America stood for something, and I was making a mockery of, I don’t know. Everything."

"You were a kid, playing," James pointed out needlessly. He tightened his grip, pulled Tony closer.

"So? I was a Stark man. I shouldn't have been wasting my time on games, anyway. Not that I played very much to begin with. Less after that."

James's breathing was slow, steady, but Tony could feel the tension in the body behind him. "Sorry."

"What?" James propped himself up on his elbow. Tony could feel him staring, kept his face turned aside. "Why are you apologizing?"

"I'm making a big deal out of stupid stuff from when I was a kid. It shouldn't matter."

"You keep saying that. Antoshka,  _you_  matter, and this is part of you," James answered softly, "so it matters, too. Keep going."

Tony closed his eyes and shrugged. "I hated him a lot of the time. Captain America."

"You'd mentioned that."

"Jealousy, mostly. Dad spent so much time looking for him, or glorifying him, or just... It was either 'Stark men this, Stark men that,' and not living up to my own name, or it was 'if the Captain was here' like it was my fucking fault Steve crashed that plane. I'd already known by four that dad loved him more than me, but, that, what I just told you? That's when I started to realize I'd  _never_  be good enough. Captain America stands for everything good, and Tony is the living embodiment of disappointment."

James held him tighter. "Steve would have socked him in the jaw for that, even before the serum. Always hated bullies."

Tony smiled, ducked his head. "Yeah. I might have daydreamed about that once or twice.”

James was careful to keep his voice non judgemental when he asked, “What else did you daydream about?”

This was harder, and Tony closed his eyes, clenched his jaw. “Um. Normal stuff, I guess. Like you said, he’s handsome.” Tony thought of his posters. “This is really…”

But James wasn’t going to let him off the hook. “I need to know.”

Tony grimaced, and shook his head, suddenly angry. “You know, I don’t remember ever grilling you about  _your_  jerk off fantasies.”

“Everyone I thought of is  _dead_ ,” James answered, and there was an edge to his voice that only served to throw gasoline on the fire of Tony's anger.

“So was  _he_ at the time!” he snapped, trying and failing to sit up. James kept him right there, the bionic arm unmovable, and the more Tony struggled, the angrier he got, until he opened his mouth again, and...

“I don’t get how this  _helps_  you, knowing that… I had posters, okay, hidden, and I would lie there, and I’d beat off staring up at him, because he was gorgeous. All hard muscle, and tall, and perfect, and  _good_ , and I wasn’t  _any_  of those things, and I’d pretend he could see me doing it, and  _liked_  it, that maybe he’d look at me and actually see something worth looking at…” he gasped, trying once again to get out of James’s grip.

“I'd jerk off, scared to death I'd be caught, wondering if that—wanting hard muscles and cock as much as I wanted to bury my face between a woman's thighs—was why my dad hated me. I told you about being shipped off to boarding school, like he couldn't stand the sight of me, and... the thing with the prostitute, but I didn't really tell you about the boys.

They all looked like him, the first cock I sucked, and the second, and all the rest all through boarding school, and the absolute  _asshole_  I let fuck me for the first time when I was fifteen, without knowing what I was getting myself into, who wouldn’t stop when I said it hurt,” his voice cracked, and this time when he tried to get up, James let him.

Tony sat at the edge of the bed, gasping, because shit, he hadn’t thought of that in ages, and… and it was only occurring to him as he was confessing that none of this  _felt_  like the past, this all felt raw and real and like something he’d been holding onto for far too long.

James sat up beside him, began cautiously stroking his back. It was gentle, and Tony knew he could easily shrug the touch aside if he wanted, but he just ran his hands over his face, and groaned, feeling shattered, and ashamed, and...

“You were so careful with me, the first time,” James said, sounding so very, very sad. “Antoshka,” he whispered, placing his arm around Tony’s shoulders. "I'm so sorry."

Tony pushed away his tears, and ground his teeth. "Well, now you know why. I hope you're happy."

“No. Not even a little." James sounded... "I know what its like, not having a choice. Being used.”

And of course he did. Tony closed his eyes, and just like that he didn’t feel shame, he felt…

Opening his eyes again, he turned to face James, and there wasn’t pity, or disgust, or disappointment. Just sympathetic heartache, and understanding, and no judgement whatsoever, and love, and wasn’t that amazing? Wasn’t that just James all over? How many little horrors had he stumbled across in his own mind and overcome? How many ways had HYDRA tried to break him, using this amazing man to destroy lives, to ruin and hurt and…

And Tony didn’t think less of him because of what he’d done, or what he’d experienced. He thought  _more_ of him, looked at him and saw the bravest, strongest person he knew, a survivor.  _That’s_  how James was looking at him now. Like he was special, like he mattered, like he was worth looking at.

“Most of my fantasies had nothing to do with sex at all,” Tony admitted in a rush. “They were all variations on a theme. I dreamed I’d be the one to find him. I spent so many hours looking at maps, and… and plotting out possible trajectories. I was going to find him and bring him home to my dad, and maybe then he’d finally… love me. He’d  _have_  to say it then, wouldn’t he? Just once?”

James’s eyes were bright as he stroked the side of Tony’s face again.

“But he died,” Tony whispered. “And that was the end of that.”

James looked crestfallen. “Because I was forced to kill him,” he added softly.

Once upon a time, James wouldn’t have phrased it like that, wouldn’t have shifted the blame to where it belonged, would have taken it for himself. Tony was part of the reason that had changed, as were all of the Avengers, all of them working together to help him absolve himself.

It was occurring to Tony that all of the advice he’d given James since knowing him, all the encouragement to forgive himself for things that were done to him, things outside of his control… maybe that advice applied to  _him_ , too.

“Wouldn’t have mattered anyway. Knowing what I know now, I have to think that even if he felt it, he wouldn’t have said anything.” Tony shrugged. “It might have made me complacent, and he was counting on me to carry on his work.”

James kissed his temple, and said nothing. Just kept his arm around Tony, and waited, patient.

"You see what I mean though? That... That wasn't love, James, feeling like he was perfect, and I was garbage, and swinging viciously between wanting to be him, just plain wanting him, wishing he'd never been born, wishing I'd never been born. That he was the key to convincing my dad I was worth loving? That's pathetic. That's..."

"Howard's fault, not yours."

“I know, but it feels like mine.”

James looked like he wanted to travel back in time to give good old Howard that sock to the jaw. "I... I know this isn't easy for you to talk about, Antoshka. Especially with me."

Tony shrugged. "No. It's not easy, but I can’t imagine ever telling anyone else. I haven't even told therapists this shit, James. Bruce has heard tidbits here and there when I've been too shitfaced to keep my mouth shut, enough for his gorgeous brain to fill in the blanks, but I've never..."

He took a ragged breath, and let himself lean into James. The arm around him tightened, and James kissed the top of his head, and Tony wondered how he'd ever thought any of what he’d felt about Steve was actual love. This was love, right here. James was love.

"If no one ever shows you, how are you supposed to know?" James asked softly, and Tony wondered if he'd said some of that out loud.

“Steve ever tell you about the first time we met?”

James snorted. “Just that he put his foot in his mouth.” Tony smiled at this, but mostly smiled at the affection he could hear in James’s voice. He was glad his little confession hadn’t changed that any. He wasn’t sure what he’d do if his personal baggage ruined James’s friendship with Steve. “The punk was always good at that, though.”

Tony sighed. "They told me they'd found him, and it was a little like waking up in a cave hooked up to a car battery. Bit of a shock."

James was quiet, listening, and Tony wondered if he'd slept at all since they'd last seen each other. He risked a look, and James found the ghost of an encouraging smile for him, the exhaustion stamped across his features. No rest, then.

“You should sleep,” he suggested. “My issues aren’t going anywhere, and you’re running on fumes.”

James shook his head. “After. This is more important.” He gave Tony a pointed look, making it clear there was no budging him on this.

"Fine. So, yeah, they found Steve. It doesn't make any sense, but it was almost like being told they'd found Howard on ice. Like I was being given another chance to make him proud."

Tony stared at his hands again. “All that time, and all those… confused feelings, and when I finally meet him?” Tony raised his head, didn’t shy away from looking into James’s eyes. “I might as well have been five again. It was the same, right down to the look in his eyes. Like I was making a mockery of everything he stood for just by existing. Like I was something he was scraping off his boot. Said he knew guys worth ten of me. Of course, he was talking about you. The Howling Commandos, too, but mostly it was you.”

James winced, and Tony nodded. "I could only think, of course, no wonder dad likes him so much. The guy takes one look at me and decides I'm a worthless fuckup."

"He changed his mind," James pointed out.

Tony laughed at this, even though it wasn't that funny. "Yeah. Took dying to make him reconsider, though, and even then he didn't  _like_  me."

"Antoshka," James sighed, running his hand through Tony's hair. "He didn't know you, and he was hurting. I know about that; waking up and finding a different world than the one that was there when you closed your eyes."

Tony nodded. "True. And that's the point, I think. I didn't know him, either. He was always Captain America to me, not Steve Rogers."

James kept petting, and Tony relaxed a little.

"Kind of says something about me that within 24 hours of meeting him I'm flying a nuke through a wormhole in space, and while I'm up there dying all I can wonder is if I'd changed his mind. If at the end of the day he'd even notice I'd died."

James pulled him into a rough hug, saying, "Sorry," and now he was the one trying to compose himself. "I hate how matter of fact you can be about dying." He exhaled shakily, and Tony hugged him back, closed his eyes and enjoyed all that warmth, and strength, and love being wrapped around him. "Thinking how close I came to never having a chance to know you makes me want to throw up."

He opened his mouth to make a joke at his own expense, to downplay his worth, but caught himself. “Yeah, well, you make me feel like all of this shit was worth it. I wouldn’t change a thing as long as it meant I got to have you at the end of it all.”

James’s breath hitched, and then Tony was being kissed, and oh, that was just what he’d needed. Bright, beautiful blue eyes drinking him in, with James’s hands cradling his face possessively. He tasted like a long night from Tony’s past—smoky with an underlying current of alcohol—but Tony doubted he tasted any better, having just woken up.

Bad taste or no, James kissed him, deeply, slowly, mapping the interior of Tony’s mouth with his tongue, fingers sliding into his hair, and Tony moaned, kissed him back, kissed until he couldn’t see through his tears, and had to pull away. Not far, just enough to rest his forehead against James’s, each of them breathing heavily.

This time, Tony took hold of James, curled his fingers around the nape of his neck, stared deep into his eyes. “I need you to know, as far as I’m concerned, I’m already married to you,” and it was a gift, seeing James smile. “I realized that a while ago, that it’d already happened in my heart, and my brain, and everywhere else. I love you. I’m not going anywhere.”

“Me neither.”

“I promise, I don’t think about him the way I used to,” Tony swore, and he relaxed when he saw James believed him.

“What about before you found me?”

“When he first moved in, yes, yeah, sure. I was raw and broken from Pepper leaving, I was drinking more, and  _miserable_ , and he started being nice to me, and so yes. I thought about it.”

James cleared his throat. “Clint might’ve mentioned the miserable part.”

“Huh.” Tony wasn’t sure why that made him feel weird. “Didn’t realize it was that obvious.”

“Don’t know that it was,” James answered, worrying at his lower lip. “He, um. After, when I came to the Tower, he said it wasn’t until then that he saw the difference. Figured out you were faking before. Did you ever say anything to Steve?”

Tony squirmed. “No, not as such, but I sort of… Well, I got some liquid courage going, and made a move,” Tony thought of the shock he’d seen on Steve’s face after stroking his cheek. “He gave me the brush off. Of course, it’s Steve, so he wasn’t an asshole about it, or anything, just… He wasn’t interested, and we left it there. I mean, sure, I might have immediately left the country on some made up business. Might have cried, too. A lot.”

James didn’t look away, but Tony was having trouble pinning down what he was seeing in the other man’s eyes. James nodded, though, so Tony swallowed, and kept going.

“Getting rejected was actually good for me,” he swore. “I know that sounds crazy, but it  _helped_. There I was in a hotel room, drowning my sorrows, and a news report about the Avengers came on. Cheesy as it sounds, it was epiphany time,” Tony let go of James in order to mimic an explosion with his hands, which got him a wry smile. “The team was too important, it needed to be my priority, but I was doing the same stupid shit I’ve always done, and all over a guy I still hadn’t actually bothered to get to know.”

“So you came back?”

“So I came back,” Tony agreed. “And when I did, I shoved all that other shit aside, and eventually realized I was a lot happier just having  _Steve Rogers_  for a friend.”

James was smiling now. “He’s a pretty good friend.”

“He’s a  _great_  friend.”

“Stubborn, though.”

“Uh, yeah, just a bit.” Tony was smiling now, too. “And that wry sense of humor? Smart, too, smarter than I’d given him credit for. And… I don’t know,  _good_. He’s just… he’s so fucking good, James.”

“I miss him.”

“I know. Me too.” Tony pulled James into a hug, and they stayed that way for some time, just rocking each other back and forth.

James sighed, and relaxed in his arms, and Tony couldn’t remember the last time he’d felt so  _light_. Probably the last time he’d broken down, and James had put him back together again.

“Hey,” he murmured, disentangling himself so he could see James’s face. “You okay? I just dumped a lot on your plate.”

James took a deep breath, and exhaled. “I’m glad you did. I was coming up with some crazy scenarios,” he lowered his eyes for a moment. “The thought of him and you,” Tony watched James’s jaw shift to the side, then he raised his eyes, and within them was an intensity that made Tony’s heart race. “Even that you might  _think_  of him, or anyone else?”

“I don’t,” Tony swore. “I haven’t, not  _once_ , not since you walked into my world and turned everything on its head.”

James arched an eyebrow. “So, with what Loki told us… why would you assume this is all your fault?”

“I dunno,” Tony sighed. “A history of being blamed for everything? Guilt over having felt that way about Steve, and never having told you? I mean, knowing what you know now, can you blame me? Steve gets turned into a baby, and all he wants is me to take care of him. Me, the guy who spent his own childhood wishing he could  _be_  Captain America so his dad would love him? It’s like some weird, fucked up, karmic switcheroo, which—last I checked—is what magic is all about.”

“Are you sure that’s all it is?” James sounded hopeful, but also worn thin.

“Um, considering what a mess I’ve been, I can understand how this next part sounds like bullshit, but the truth is after we got together, I stopped thinking about it.” Tony stroked the side of James’s face. “You’re kind of distracting.”

“Tony.”

“I’m being serious. You made me happy, and, sure, the issues with my dad, that’s never stopped haunting me, but I shoved a lot of the Captain America stuff into a trunk, dumped it into the ocean, and stopped thinking about it.”

James stared at him.

“When I had my freakout on Bruce a while back, he asked me what I wanted out of my life. Even drunk off my ass, I didn’t have to think, because the only answer was  _you_. Just you, James, I don’t need anything else as long as I have you.”

“You have me. And you’re  _mine_ , Antoshka,” and this was said low, and gravelly, emphatically, as if James was explaining one of the underlying, unflinching, unyielding principles of the universe. It was the voice of a man who would set the world on fire if need be, just to prove his point.

“Yours,” Tony agreed, and wow.

Just… wow.

That was a  _feeling_  right there. That was the  _best_  feeling. That was everything his childhood hadn’t been. All those dirty little painful secrets, dragged out into the light, and James still looked at him as if he was the bright center of the universe. Wanted him, loved him, would fight to keep him, would help hold him up when he wasn’t strong enough to stand on his own two feet, and would let Tony do the same for him.

And just like that, Tony knew that everything was going to be okay. No matter what happened with Steve, with the rest of the world, it was going to be fine, because James wasn’t going anywhere. And neither was he.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Oh look, it isn't really a cliffhanger, and they're HAPPIER!! *falls over dead* I'm so sorry for everyone I broke last week. 
> 
> This conversation was really, really good for Tony to have, and also long overdue. Also, for the millionth time I wish I could draw, because I want to see Natasha, Baby Steve, Tony and Bruce cuddled up together.


	11. Chapter 11

“Bu bu!”

It was amazing to watch the fatigue and melancholy slide off of James’s face in response to Steve’s enthusiastic greeting. More gratifying still was seeing him sweep Steve up into his arms, giving him a little spin while doing it, so by the time he’d settled against James’s chest he was squealing with delight.

“And just like that, I’m invisible,” Tony muttered, not in the least bit upset.

Tony jumped as Natasha sidled up to him. “I take it you worked things out?” she asked softly. 

From across the room, Bruce was surreptitiously watching, obviously invested in the answer to that question. How lucky was he, having friends like this—family—who would take him in at crazy hours and comfort him and… Tony found himself tearing up again, and managed to surprise Natasha by pulling her into a hug.

“Thank you,” he whispered, wiping hurriedly at his eyes after letting go. “Sorry, I’m on emotional overload. Still getting used to having a family.”

“It does take getting used to,” she agreed, stroking the side of his face.

Steve was making a racket, and when Tony looked over, he found James wide eyed and staring at him. “Any idea what he’s going on about?”

The adorable little face scrunched up, as if insulted that James needed a translation since he felt himself to be perfectly capable of communicating.

“Okay, Stormageddon, what have the peasants done to upset the Dark Lord of All?”

“Any idea what _he’s_ going on about?” James repeated, looking to Bruce this time for a Tony translation.

“It’s a nerd thing,” Bruce explained, smiling wryly.

“Well, for a start, he wants tapioca pudding, which I can get behind,” Tony explained, while Steve babbled. “He’s annoyed because Clint showed him his collection of Powerpuff Girls toys, but then wouldn’t let him play with any of them.”

“Okay, that is creepily accurate,” Clint interrupted.

“Sharing is caring, Barton,” Tony reminded him. “James, he’s happy you’re back, but he’s annoyed with me for being gone so long—sorry, Spangles. Also, he wants to change into the red shirt with the duck on it, and then go down to the gym.”

"Is he serious?" Sam asked, looking around the room.

Everyone was staring at him again. Tony rolled his eyes. It wasn't that hard, any of them could have figured it out, but they let the fact that Steve was a babbling baby over complicate the issue. 

Steve clapped, and giggled, and Tony gave up and blew a raspberry on his cheek, which only led to more giggling.

“Okay, let’s tuck James in, get your wardrobe sorted, and then I’ll take you to the gym. Maybe Clint can work on the pudding for you, since he’s a meanie that doesn’t share.” Steve agreed with some of his plan, and didn’t shy away from offering alternative orders. “Okay, then Clint can get tucked in _with_ James, and maybe Thor will make the pudding, since you asked so nice.”

Clint held up his hand. “Wait, what?”

“It would be my honor, Steven.”

“Thanks, Thor. Barton, I know you haven’t slept either, let’s go.”

That Clint followed without protest was proof enough of how tired he was. 

The awkwardness didn’t settle in until they were all in the elevator together. With a sigh, Tony pulled Clint into a half hug, and gave him a kiss on the cheek. Clint made a big deal of wiping his face off after, but Tony knew that actually meant he’d loved it, even if he was grumbling when he asked, “I guess this means you guys worked it out?”

“We’re squared away,” James answered. As if to prove this, he hooked an arm around Tony’s shoulders and kissed the top of his head, which was just nice.

Tony stared at their reflections. James was making faces at Steve to amuse him, while Clint yawned into his fist, and there he was standing the middle of it all. It seemed like they were different people every time he and James rode in the elevator together. So far, this was his favorite version, and so he smiled at his own reflection, and maybe, for just a second, a tiny, tiny part of him thought it’d be nice if Steve stayed this way.

The doors opened before he could think on that too much, and then he was dealing with Clint’s whining.

“Did the crib _explode_?” he asked, kicking at one of the pieces. In the light of day, Tony had to admit their place was a mess. The furniture was all out of sorts, and there were pillows, blankets, and crib parts strewn everywhere else.

“I was wondering about that, too.”

Tony cleared his throat, and absolutely was not embarrassed. “Look, it was inferior. Don’t worry, I’m building a better one.” 

James gave him a look. “I had this place babyproofed. I expect it to be that way again by the time I wake up, and that’s an order.”

To Tony’s utter dismay, Steve backed James up, and so he added ‘clean up’ to his list of things to do. “Yessir. Now, march,” he said, herding them into the bedroom.

Tony bounced Steve on his hip, doing a little rocking back and forth motion as the two stripped down to sleep. He was about to ask how James’s side was healing up, but as soon as his shirt came off, was immediately distracted.

“Why do you two have matching bandages?” 

James and Clint paused on either side of the bed, each holding a bit of the blanket, before glancing at each other, then back at Tony. He recognized the ‘caught red handed’ look when he saw it, and this was it, this was it all over. 

Steve was right on board with his assessment, and filled in the blanks. 

“Is he right?” Tony squeaked, setting Steve down on the bed so he could investigate.

“What’d he say?” Clint asked cautiously, signing furiously ( _Tony’s sign language wasn’t good enough to keep up_ ) with James the entire time.

"He said you two got tattoos last night," he replied in what sounded a lot like a threatening tone of voice. "Did you make him get tattooed?"

"What? No, it was his idea," Clint swore.

James sighed, and pulled at the tape, lifting the bandage up enough for Tony to see the bow and arrow now decorating his right pectoral region. Clint removed his own, revealing what looked to be a M1941 Johnson rifle.

"You're both grounded, and no tapioca pudding!"

"Not fair!" Clint wailed. 

"Do you hate it?"

Tony stared some more. His reaction was more kneejerk than anything. Actually, seeing the two of them standing there with their very obvious declarations of love and friendship stamped into their skin was heartwarming in a way he couldn’t quite explain. A teensy weensy bit of him was jealous that he’d missed out on it, but that was his problem. 

James had been ordered to abolish his hard won sense of self, was once again being shoved into a role without having any choice in the matter. He’d been ordered to abandon his preferred style of fighting, which would require him to consciously override his instinctual responses in the thick of battle, had even cut his hair in order to masquerade as Captain America. Sure, there was no chair, no HYDRA brainwashing, or deep freeze—there was just the person he loved most ordering him to do it, which in a lot of ways made it worse. 

As if that wasn’t enough to deal with, Tony had then gone and dropped his little Captain America bombshell in probably the worst possible way. When James had left the day before, it was entirely possible he’d decided that, without ever knowing it, he’d even been filling in for Steve in his own relationship with Tony.

That he’d decided to do something wildly independent, something that was for him alone, _and_ had the added bonus of celebrating an uncomplicated by age regression or weird feelings friendship? Not surprising. Tony figured he should probably just be counting his lucky stars that James hadn’t actually gotten a tattoo of Clint's face instead. 

"No," he admitted, "no, it's actually really nice. Yours too, birdbrain." James relaxed, which in turn made Tony relax. And he wasn’t lying, either. As much as it would take getting used to, it was kind of sexy. “I hereby unground you, and award you extra portions of pudding. Now get in the fucking bed, and sleep.”

“Your bed is huge, by the way,” Clint pointed out, yawning halfway through the sentence, “why isn’t my bed this huge?”

"Do you even sleep in your bed? I remember designing you a Cloak Hammock because, and I quote, 'You expect me to sleep in a bed? That's the first place they look, Stark.' Or did I dream that?"

James was already settled into the bed, his eyes drifting closed, a little smile on his face. Steve crawled up the bed, and James started fake snoring while Steve tried to get his attention, laughing like James ignoring him was the best game in the world. 

"Fair. My hammock is awesome. And portable."

"Okay, enough, sleep. That's an order."

Clint grumbled some more, but he also looked pretty comfortable, and half asleep. Tony signed 'thank you' while Clint still had his eyes open, and got a thumbs up in return. 

"Come on, squirt." Tony scooped Steve up with a grunt, then leaned over to give James a kiss. Steve gave a little squeal, so James gave him one on his forehead, and then they left the two to their sleep.

Finding Steve's stuff in the mess took longer than expected, but they eventually got him changed, and in the process Tony managed to get the mess better organized and most of it back in the packaging.

Once he finished designing his superior crib, he'd have to see about selling them, and a hell of a lot cheaper than this top of the line garbage. "We could have a whole line of Stark Baby stuff, Steve, sound good? Wanna be my guinea pig?"

Steve squealed, and Tony took his hand so they could walk out together. "I thought so. You love being a Stark guinea pig."

To Tony's surprise, they found Sam down in the gym, running on a treadmill. Even more surprising, Steve seemed especially excited to see him there. He took off running ( _it had a bit of wobble to it, but wasn't too shabby_ ) and Sam hopped off the treadmill to greet him. 

"Hey, little man," he said, smiling when Steve collided with his legs and beamed up at him. He looked up and gave Tony a nod. "Tony."

"Sam. Looks like someone is happy to see you."

Steve agreed, babbling as he smacked Sam's legs and then took off running again, amusing himself in the way only a child could. 

Sam shook his head, and walked over to join Tony. "Still feels trippy, seeing him like this."

"You haven't changed his diaper. Wiping your friend's baby-ass? Weird. I'm probably going to need therapy if I ever want to look Steve in the eyes again."

This got him a laugh, but Sam was mostly focused on their little friend. 

Tony liked Sam—he was good people, and had helped Steve and James quite a bit—but he'd always gotten the feeling Sam didn't feel the same about him. This wasn't so strange, really, he tended to rub people the wrong way all the time, but as an honorary Avenger, Sam was different from all the other people who disliked Tony. 

He'd been invited to live in the Tower, but passed, preferring to keep his own place, which Tony could respect. Outside of a few post battle dinners, he tended to steer clear of Tony altogether. It felt strange, and not at all a coincidence that he'd run into him now, after announcing they'd be going to the gym. 

Tony watched Steve, who was having a blast slapping his palms against the bottom of the punching bag, and couldn't help himself; he pulled out his phone and grabbed some video. When he finished up he found Sam watching him, a smile on his face. 

"You seem to be all over this."

Tony shoved his phone back in his pocket, embarrassed and uncomfortable. "You missed the really fun breakdowns."

Sam refocused his attention on Steve, shifting to stand beside Tony. "Still. Bucky seemed a bit better today, too."

"Mm hmm."

"Guessing you don't really wanna talk about it?"

"Nope." Tony ran a hand over his face, frowning. "All I've been doing is talking about it. Kinda over that at this point."

"Makes sense. Any idea when all this'll go back to normal?"

Tony shrugged. "Might be permanent. It's up to Steve. Hey, buddy, don't try to eat the weights!" Steve giggled and toddled back over to the punching bag. "Thank you, cupcake."

"What's the plan if that happens?"

Tony sighed, scrubbed a hand through his hair, and tried to remember Sam hadn't been around for everything. He wasn't second guessing, he was only concerned for their mutual friend. 

"We get him a birth certificate, social security card, James and I adopt him, and raise him."

"With you as Iron Man and him as Captain America?"

"At first, anyway. We can't just stop."

Sam nodded, folded his arms across his chest. "How about someone else adopting him, giving him a chance at a normal life?"

Tony felt his heart lurch, his pulse beginning to race, thought of being sent away at seven, and the years leading up to it, knowing it was only a matter of time. How every time his dad’s expression darkened, he’d thought, “this is it.” Tony thought of Steve's face lighting up when he saw them, of the way he cried when Tony went away, and felt sick to his stomach. 

"I understand you mean well, and I get that you think I'm a self serving piece of shit, but there is no way I would do that to him. He's counting on me, and he's _Steve,_ not some outdated bit of technology! You don't just send a kid away because it’s hard."

Sam's hand was warm when he placed it on Tony's arm. "Hold up a minute," he said softly, glancing over at Steve. "I'm just playing Devil's advocate here, not passing any judgements. It's clear that boy loves you, both of you, but we're not exactly living the safest of lives. And I don't like people putting words in my mouth, either. I ever call you self serving?"

Tony's mouth quirked to the side. "No, but it's obvious you don't like me."

To his absolute surprise, Sam looked embarrassed. "That's... It isn't that I don't like you."

"It's fine, most people don't, you're in good company. At least you don't pretend, which I appreciate."

Sam stared at him, and shook his head. "He talks about you a lot, you know."

"Huh?"

"Steve," Sam clarified, widening his eyes a bit, as if that was supposed to mean something.

"Okay?" Tony stared. Then something occurred to him. "That's why you don't like me, because of what Steve's told you? Huh. Makes sense. Pretty sure I disappoint him a lot of the time."

"Man, that's impressive."

Tony was beginning to feel like they should be having their conversation in the ring. "Look, it's been a long couple days, and I just... I get it. No one would willingly put me in charge of a kid, but for whatever reason, he's counting on me, and I'm not going to let him down, or pass him off, I'm going to take care of him, and show him he's loved, and..."

Sam was waving his hands. "Tony, slow down, I'm not criticizing you! I'm... Look, you're doing a great job. I mean that."

"Then what the fuck do you want from me?" Tony asked, spreading his arms wide in exasperation.

"Anyone ever tell you go out of your way to twist things around? Turn compliments into insults, questions into accusations?” 

Tony shifted uncomfortably. He’d been working on that since meeting James, thought he was doing a bit better, at least, but the last few days had really worn him down.

“I don't really know you, man, I mostly got my impressions second hand, so I think this is the first time it's clicked for me."

"Congratulations." It sounded far more hostile than Tony intended it to be, and he winced, pinched the bridge of his nose. “Sorry.”

"Tony, what I'm trying to say is, I like Steve. _A lot_. And he spends most of his time talking about _you_ , so as a result I may or may not have been a bit standoffish with you."

"He talks about you a lot, too, you know? How you're such a good friend, and..." Sam smiled and ducked his head and suddenly Tony felt like an absolute idiot, the pieces falling into place. "Shit. You didn't mean that kind of like, did you?"

"Now you get it."

Tony stared, and stared, and stared some more, then looked over at Steve, and back to Sam. “Does he know?”

Sam shook his head. “Nah. Like I said, he mostly talks about you. Not sure how I’m supposed to compete with Tony Stark.”

Tony laughed. He didn’t mean to, it just happened, and he felt bad once he saw the look on Sam’s face. “No, shit, I’m sorry, this isn’t actually funny, just,” he wiped at his eyes, and fought off another chuckle. “If you had any idea how I’d spent my morning... that right there, the idea that anyone would be jealous of _me_ when it comes to Steve? Very funny.”

Sam stared at him, his expression shifting into surprise.

“For what it’s worth, I can see it working with you two,” Tony offered, because he could. Sam was the same sort of deep down good that Steve was, had more than proven himself to be a loyal friend. “If he’s even into guys, that is. Not really sure where he stands on that.”

Sam’s eyes widened further, and he shook his head, looking away. Tony got the feeling he had a lot more to say, but had decided to keep quiet, which was fine by him. He was sick of talking about feelings, anyway.

Steve let out a baby war cry, and took off running with more enthusiasm than balance, surprising himself a moment later when he fell, hard. Tony was over there in an instant to help him up, tousling Steve’s hair, and saying, “You’re fine,” before Steve began bawling. He whined, and Tony dropped down to look at the little hands being offered up as evidence of injury. “Hmm, I don’t see anything,” he mused, dropping a kiss into each of Steve’s palms after looking them over. “Guess you’re too tough, huh?”

“Sir,” JARVIS interrupted, “Dr. Banner informs me he’s made a breakthrough, and hopes you and Baby Rogers might stop by the lab at your earliest convenience.”

“Hear that? Time to go visit Bruce. Let's go say goodbye to Sam."

Tony took Steve's hand and they walked over to an uncomfortable looking Sam. Tony felt bad—he knew what it was like, wanting something you thought you couldn't have. 

"Hey, sorry I suck at normal human interaction," he said, extending his hand when they reached Sam. "Maybe we could try again when I'm not suffering from an emotional hangover?"

Sam shook his hand. "Name the time and place." He let go of Tony's hand and crouched down to say goodbye to Steve. "See you later, little man." He held his hand up and Steve gave him a high five. 

Tony scooped Steve back up into his arms, gave him a kiss on his forehead, and headed for the door, throwing Sam a wave over his shoulder.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> What? Nothing horrible happened in this whole chapter! Whew, what a relief it is that Tony & Bucky have worked their shit out. I couldn't resist the Clint snuggle. It needed to happen. Oblivious Tony is Oblivious. Sam is pining. Hmm... we should do something about that, once Cap is all growed up again, yes? *evil fluffy smile*
> 
> Have I mentioned lately how much I love you all? Because I do. Thanks so much for sharing in this adventure with me!


	12. Chapter 12

"And we should..."

"Huh. How 'bout that." Tony folded his arms and studied the swirling colors surrounding Steve's little figure on their displays. "They look different to you?"

Bruce nodded, while Thor crossed his arms and scowled. "They do, but the change is an expected one."

Tony sighed, feeling an odd compulsion to smoke a cigarette, which was unexpected; he hadn't had a smoke since his twenties. He thought of the smoke he'd smelled on James earlier, figured that was to blame, and then found himself curious as to whether James had actually been the one doing the smoking. 

If he was being honest, his curiosity over how James and Clint had spent their evening was only growing. Of course, he was going to keep his mouth shut and get right the hell over that. Considering what he’d been putting the guy through lately, he’d more than earned a night of secrets.

Steve was happily eating blueberries and smiling at him, and Tony smiled back. He had bigger things to worry about, needed to focus. 

"So you're saying the time tears or whatever you want to call them are repairing at an expected rate?"

Thor stroked his beard, and leaned closer. "Loki would know for certain, though he will not offer us more information than he has already."

"Are there color shifts we'd expect to see when we're running out of time?" Bruce asked. 

"Blues."

"Hey, idea. Can we scan someone with a normal relationship with time for comparison?"

Bruce nodded. "Sure. Thanks for volunteering."

Tony handed Steve off to Thor, then hopped up onto the table, waiting for Bruce to make his adjustments. "You look surprisingly at ease with a kid in your arms," he remarked, because oddly enough Thor did. Or maybe it was simply the fact that he and Steve looked like they could be related.

Thor beamed. "I hope to have many of my own."

Tony opened his mouth to ask if that was possible, considering Jane wasn't Asgardian, but promptly shut it again. 

He supposed it shouldn’t surprise him to hear Thor’s easy, heartfelt answer, and really, it didn’t _surprise_ him so much as leave him with an uncomfortable sensation he’d only be able to classify as jealousy, if he was being completelyhonest with himself.

Despite the insanity that was his adopted brother, out of all of them, Thor likely had the most normal, happy upbringing. Maybe if you had loving parents and could fly ( _without needing a badass Iron Man suit_ ) the idea of being responsible for another human life to that extent wasn’t the stuff of nightmares.

Bruce finished typing with a flourish, interrupting Tony's thoughts. “Okay. Would you say this is normal?”

Thor bounced Steve in his arms, and leaned closer to the displays. “I would indeed.”

Bruce spun one of the displays around so Tony could see. Sure enough, he was surrounded by similarly swirling colors, but they were all cool, calm blues. It looked nothing like the angry mishmash of colors Steve had around him, which was probably good.

“Right, so let’s check him daily, and see if we can measure and extrapolate based upon that, ballpark a figure for how much time we have?” Bruce was already nodding, fingers flying, and Tony relaxed infinitesimally. 

“Of course, we’re hoping it’s consistent,” Bruce felt the need to add, and Tony grimaced, because he’d been thinking the same thing.

“Well, let’s not worry about that unless we have to,” Tony said, hopping off the table. “Thor, feel free to throw some guesses our way.”

“I fear they are of little use,” Thor answered after a moment. “It could be anywhere from days to months.”

Tony frowned, and shared a look with Bruce. “Alright. Give me my baby back, then, if you don’t mind.” He ignored the looks this got him, and helped himself to Steve. “Let’s just plan as if we’re in for the long haul, then. We’ve got a crib to finish, soldier.”

He wasn’t stupid, he could tell Bruce wanted to talk, but he just wasn’t in the mood. He was beginning to come to terms with the understanding that none of this was something they could control, or fix. Every instinct he had told him they needed to stop fighting this, and just embrace it.

Maybe Thor saw that in his eyes, had some understanding of what was going through his head, because he clapped Tony on the shoulder, and smiled approvingly. “Follow your instincts, my friend.”

Which, hey, if a demi-god was cheering you on, you couldn’t be doing it all wrong. So back down to the workshop they went, stopping along the way to load up on snacks, and coffee. 

When they arrived, he was somewhat surprised to see the Baby Cap enclosure he’d built the day before was loaded up with paper and various art supplies. He had no recollection of putting them there. 

“Guess that happened while I was out of it?”

“Indeed,” JARVIS answered hesitantly. “How are you feeling, sir?”

“Not bad, actually,” he admitted, doing some quick rearranging so that Steve could get busy with the fingerpaints. At the last minute, he swooped in and removed the duck shirt, not wanting it to get ruined. “Maybe even good.” He thought of James, and grinned wildly. “Fuck that. Great, JARVIS, I’m feeling kind of great.”

Steve lectured him on his language, because even as a baby he was a hypocrite, but he was Tony’s hypocrite, so he let it slide. He ruffled Steve’s hair, then did it again after the little guy giggled.

Big blue eyes stared up at him, leaving Tony paralyzed, torn between his work and the hopeful look on the little face. 

"We should probably fuel up first," he suggested, gesturing toward the pile of snacks they'd brought with them. 

It was obviously an excuse to put off work in order to spend more time with Steve, which was kind of ridiculous, considering they were the only ones there. He wasn't sure who he was trying to fool—Steve or himself. 

"You know what? There’s nothing wrong with enjoying taking care of you.” Steve burbled his agreement, pointing out that if he was going to thoroughly commit himself to enjoying being a kid again, it only made sense for Tony to try to have fun with it, too. “Agreed. So let’s do this! Snack time, then you can help me make a fingerpainting masterpiece."

Steve clapped, a clear sign of approval, so that was that. Decision made, he let go of the misplaced guilt, and gave himself permission to have fun. All told, Tony spent about an hour just relaxing and painting with Steve before finally feeling ready to pick up where he’d left off. 

“I want something suitable for framing,” he instructed before having JARVIS turn on the music. Of course, it was a little less heavy, and at a much lower volume than normal, which was unsettling for all of ten minutes before he stopped catching himself preparing to ask JARVIS to turn it up so he could become properly engrossed in his work.

Tony pretty quickly decided to go an entirely different direction with his Cap Crib, scrapping everything he had and starting over. It should have taken no time at all, but this wasn’t like his typical day in the workshop. He couldn’t just block everything out completely, considering his company. Tony remembered all too well what it felt like, desperately vying for his father’s attention, and there was no way he was doing that to Steve.

So he didn’t. 

He let himself fairly consistently get happily distracted along the way, either climbing back into the enclosure in order to look at Steve's paintings, or to help him clean off his messy hands so he could use another color ( _Steve was an artist, he didn’t want the greens mixed in with his reds_ ), or to change a diaper ( _less fun)_ , have another snack, or show him the progress being made on his crib.

Tony loved talking about his projects and showing off, so working alongside his ( _literally_ ) captive audience was thoroughly enjoyable. Steve was happy, and carefree, and maybe there was something to Thor’s theory about childhood being healing after all. Even at his happiest, their Steve tended to have a tenseness about his shoulders, as if he was carrying the weight of the world there. And in a lot of ways, Tony supposed he was.

But this Steve was revelling in his lack of responsibility, happily making a mess of everything in a way Tony absolutely approved of, laughing to himself as they spent the rest of the day working and playing together. 

There was something unspeakably satisfying in watching Steve gaze up at the holographic 3D representations of his future crib, chubby little arms reaching to interact with the interface, face lit up in wonder. And, oddly enough, there was equal satisfaction on Tony’s part when Steve finished one of his paintings, and explained what was going on with all the colorful blobs on the paper.

So, really, it was no surprise that by the time James wandered in with an amazing looking sandwich, Tony had fingerpaint in his hair, and probably some other places too, and Steve was actively stomping his little feet up and down on a big sheet of paper, leaving green footprints behind.

“Do I even wanna know?”

“Bu bu!”

“He’s making something for Hulk,” Tony explained, snagging the sandwich and taking a big bite. "Mm, I love you."

"Love you, too."

Tony shoved more food into his mouth, and winked. "I was talking to the sandwich, actually, but come to think of it, you're alright, too."

This got him a playful smack to the head, and a low, throaty chuckle. James looked good in a way he hadn’t since before Steve went and got himself de-aged. It was obvious he could use some more sleep, but he’d shaved, and showered, and the new haircut was really, really working for him. 

There was just the right amount of affection and exasperation in his eyes when he smiled at the two of them, handing Tony the empty plate before picking Steve up. “Hey, punk,” he said, giving Steve a little squeeze. “You been keeping him out of trouble for me?”

James’s eyes shifted, meeting Tony’s own, and oh, that was a look, alright. A sort of smouldering, lovesick look that made Tony’s heart skip a beat. James's eyes had a mischievous glint to them, and he seemed not to care that Steve was getting his white t-shirt all covered with paint. Tony just wanted to freeze time, stare at the two of them like that for at least a couple hours.

Wiping his hands off on one of the rags nearby, Tony set down his sandwich, fished out his phone, and did the next best thing.

“You’re a sap,” James accused, but he didn’t really sound like he was protesting. 

“And how.” Tony snapped a photo, then one or two or half a dozen more, so by the time he took the last one, James had his chin tucked down, was trying to hide his smile in Steve’s hair.

“I finished his crib,” Tony announced, shoving the phone back in his pocket, and tucking back into his sandwich. “So, you know, we can have our living room back.”

“Stevie, you sign off on the fabrication?” James received a lengthy reply, and grinned, his eyes shifting to make contact with Tony’s own again and again, like looking away hurt him. “Is that a fact?”

Tony grinned back, popped the last bite of food in his mouth, began cleaning up the fingerpaints. “You actually get all that?”

“I’m guessing you made it hotrod red like the armor.”

“Good guess.”

“How about I give Steve a bath, get him changed, while you clean up here,” James suggested, “then we can maybe relax. It’s movie night.”

Tony hopped to his feet, reluctant to be parted from either of them. “Um, if you give me a minute we could just do that together?” James looked like he was going to protest. “I know you can do it on your own, it’s not that.”

He wasn’t sure how to explain the odd, desperate desire to hold onto each and every little moment where the three of them got to pretend to be a family. Steve wasn’t going to be this way forever, and he and James didn’t want kids, so this was it, really, his one chance to play dad, and it was really, really strange how important that was feeling at the moment.

Thankfully, the furrow between James’s brows had already smoothed away, and he was smiling again. “It’ll be more fun with you, anyway.”

Tony picked up the pace, getting everything cleaned up as best he could, setting aside all but two of the paintings, carefully carrying the dried masterpieces Steve had created. He held up the one covered with red and gold man-shaped smears, and signed with a red and blue handprint. 

“Is that Iron Man?” James asked taking it off Tony’s hands, holding it up so he could look at it closer. “Nice job, Stevie.”

“The, uh, dark blob with the blue blob is you and Steve,” Tony pointed out. “I’m going to frame that one. This one is for Clint.” James stared at it, eyebrows scrunched in confusion, and Tony mouthed, “I have no fucking idea,” because really, it was a bunch of colorful smears on paper, but whatever. For all he knew it represented Clint’s relationship with maturity.

“I’m sure Clint will love it,” James answered smoothly, making a face when he was sure Steve couldn’t see him. Tony laughed, a real one, a happy one, smiling so hard his face hurt, watching as Steve dropped his head onto James’s shoulder, little hand grabbing a fistful of t-shirt. It took a great deal of restraint not to take another photo.

The elevator doors slid open, and he let them exit first, heart hammering in his chest. After the week they’d had, the happiness felt dangerous, and volatile, something that was going to consume him from within and leave a burnt out husk in its wake.

“Too bad we don’t have any bath toys,” James lamented, setting the Iron Man painting down on the coffee table once they were inside.

“J, wanna put in an order?” Tony called. “Some other toys, too, and maybe some more age appropriate art supplies. We’re going to run out at this rate. And a nightlight.”

“Of course, sir.”

James headed straight for the bathroom, Tony hot on his heels, accepting the baby trade off once they were inside so that James could get the water running. 

Even though he spent a lot of time with his hair pulled back, it was still strange to see him so clean cut and exposed, and Tony had to wonder if James was even aware he had no hair to hide the odd expression on his face.

“What’s up, soldier?”

He looked up guiltily, then back down at the tub. “Nothing.” Tony waited, didn’t have to wait long. “Actually, no. It’s not nothing. J, order a wagon, too. One of the good old fashioned ones.”

“I’ll admit, not what I was expecting.”

James shrugged, scratched the back of his neck, a sheepish, almost embarrassed gesture that reminded Tony of Steve. “Might be fun, taking him for a ride.”

“Add one Radio Flyer to the list, JARVIS.” 

James smiled, tried to hide it, but failed, as JARVIS said, “Already done.”

Tony set Steve down, pausing to make a face at himself in the mirror upon seeing the new painted look he was sporting. He was definitely going to need a shower of his own when they were done with Steve. With a shrug, he plopped down on the floor, helped James get Steve out of his pants and diaper and into the tub, where the real fun began.

“Is there a trick to this I don’t know about,” Tony asked five minutes later. He was soaking wet, and Steve was only partially clean, but shrieking happily as he splashed around in the tub. James took one look at him, and burst out laughing, a heartfelt, deep, beautiful laugh. “How the hell are you still dry? This isn’t fair. Splash him, Cap!”

Steve squealed, and did just that, so that James got a faceful of water, and it was Tony’s turn to laugh. Things just went downhill from there, until it looked like there was more water outside of the tub than in, everyone was soaking wet, and Tony’s sides ached from laughing.

“We’re awful at this,” James wheezed, trying to rinse shampoo out of Steve’s hair without drowning him or getting anything in his eyes.

“Personally, I think we’re awesome,” Tony countered. 

James gave him a look at that, strangely vulnerable, his white shirt with splotches of color clinging to his skin, and he was just so beautiful in the moment that Tony wanted to push him onto the floor and, oh, hello, apparently that thought had come through loud and clear, because James made a soft, surprised sound, licked his lower lip.

It only lasted a moment, though, his attention diverted by Steve, and finishing up the bath. “Since you’re convinced we’re awesome, you can be the one to clean up.”

“Sure, fine, punish me for my optimism.”

His solution was to throw many, many towels at the puddles, and then watch while James got Steve dried off.

“I’m just going to wash the rest of the paint out of my hair.”

James stood up, a bundled Steve cradled on his left, while he grabbed Tony and pulled him in close on his right. James helped himself to a kiss, smiling one of his devastating smiles when he was done.

“Don’t keep us waiting too long,” he ordered, rubbing their noses together before letting go. “Alright, Stevie, let’s just go straight to pajamas.”

Tony decided to be responsible, so he finished mopping up the water properly before hopping in the shower, giving himself a quick wash. He manfully resisted the temptation to jerk off, but regretted his decision, because when he walked into the bedroom he found a dressed Steve jumping on their bed, and the tortuous sight of a shirtless James in the process of pulling on a dry pair of pants.

“Incredibly unfair,” he grumbled, trying and failing to stop ogling his fiancé. Which, yes, he did find himself grinning like an idiot over being able to use that word, even if it was only in his own mind.

“You’re the one walking around wearing only a towel,” James pointed out, switching to Russian. “If only we weren’t so responsible, Antoshka,” he added, shaking his head and trailing off.

Tony grinned, and headed into his criminally large closet in order to pick out some clothes. He went for exceedingly comfortable, tugging on an old pair of jeans with the knees blown out, and a soft gray shirt, then went to join up with James and Steve.

They gathered up some extra diapers, James handing Steve off to Tony as they headed back downstairs for movie night. 

“You know... I think we’re actually doing okay,” James announced in the elevator, an arm around Tony’s shoulders.

"Don't sound so surprised. We adapt, we overcome," Tony rambled, blowing a raspberry on Steve's cheek, "we kick ass."

“I get the feeling you’ve decided to act like this is permanent,” and this was said in Russian, which meant he was trying to keep Steve out of the conversation. “Am I crazy, or do you know something I don’t?”

Tony sighed. “Well, we finally have a monitoring device of sorts. Can’t really pin down just how long we have, not yet anyway.” He bounced Steve in his arms, and leaned heavily against James’s side. “I guess… After talking with you about everything, it was a little easier to take a step back. Think about what Loki actually said.”

“That Steve’s the only one who can fix this."

“Yeah, exactly. And, in the kitchen, after, Thor said something to me about, um, childhood, and how maybe that’d be something some people wanted to relive.”

James tightened his grip, pressed his mouth against Tony’s temple. “Guessing that never occurred to you, huh?”

He snorted. “Nope. Not so much.” The elevator began to slow as they approached their floor. “J, can you hold it for a second?” They shuddered to a stop, and Tony shifted so he could look into James's eyes. “I know this is insane, and it isn’t what either of us imagined for ourselves, but for the time being, let’s just… let’s just go with it.”

James studied his face for a moment, vulnerable and nervous. “Just be a family?”

“We’re all already a family, right?” Tony pointed out. “If being a kid again is going to help Steve do whatever it is he needs to do, chances are it’ll work faster if he feels loved and taken care of. And I can’t really think of anyone more qualified than us to do that for him. Can you?”

Steve grabbed for Tony’s mouth, complaining about all the Russian, and something in James’s eyes softened. He stroked Steve’s back, and shook his head. When he answered, it was in English. “Don’t want it to be anyone else. Feels like I’ve been taking care of this punk his entire life.”

“Alright then?"

"Yeah. Yeah, okay."

James’s smile was a little more certain this time, as he pressed a kiss to each of their foreheads. JARVIS took this as his cue, let the elevator resume its progress, and a moment later they strolled out together to join the rest of their family for movie night.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I think there might have only been good feelings in this chapter?! Um... *checks self for fever*


	13. Chapter 13

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> SEX~!

In deference to Steve, they weren't watching anything loaded up with violence, or sex. Clint spent a good twenty minutes trying to convince them that _Blade Runner_ was practically a kid's movie, but once Bruce hesitantly suggested _The Muppets Take Manhattan_ Clint was all over it. 

Bucky spent the first twenty minutes or so of the movie feeding Steve some pudding, while Tony documented the experience. At the rate he was going, he'd be able to put together a whole baby album. Maybe he'd have some printed up, keep them around the Tower for when Steve was being too serious. Tony could flip it open, and show him the picture of Bucky—with a diaper clutched in one hand, mind you—running after a half naked Steve, cheer him right up.  

"What're you grinning at over there?"

Tony sighed contentedly at the feeling of James's fingers carding through his hair, tips dragging over skin, massaging his scalp. 

With a shrug, Tony slouched down a bit more. He and James were occupying their customary loveseat, but Steve was nestled between them, little legs wiggling and bouncing with excess energy where they were draped over James's own. 

"Just happy."

Steve squirmed a bit, burrowing against Tony even more than he already was, one little fist holding onto James’s shirt, as if worried he was going to try to leave. Didn’t seem like that was happening any time soon. He was smiling, shuffled even closer, scooping Steve up and onto his lap, then rested his head on Tony’s shoulder.

“Me too, oddly enough,” he whispered. “Maybe we’d make better dads than we thought.”

Tony snorted, earning himself an arched eyebrow. “ _You_ , sure, but I’m not even going to pretend I’m not ‘mom’ in this little arrangement.” James burst out laughing at this, face pressed into Steve’s hair to help stifle the noise. “Ha ha, laugh it up.”

It was a gift, seeing James smiling and laughing again, made Tony think his instincts were on the money. Maybe they all needed to just go with the flow where Steve’s baby condition was concerned. If he thought on it too long, it was still overwhelming and terrifying, but at that particular moment it was good. Great even.

“You’ve got the mom powers, alright,” James agreed. “We’re still taking bets over how your baby translations work.”

“Observation, deduction, a good memory,” Tony rambled, bringing his mouth closer to James’s ear and talking softly so as not to disturb the others. “Guesswork? A little bullshit? I dunno, it all makes sense in the moment.”

James's laugh was hardly audible, but Tony could feel the vibrations of it where James shook against his side. "To you, sure."

"I want a World's Best Mom mug," Tony whispered. James continued to snicker. "I'm serious, you should take this seriously."

James shifted around again until he could pull Tony into a slightly awkward kiss. It was like an electric shock running through his body, left him breathless and hungry. It's been too long, his body ached for James, and...

If the look in James's eyes was any indication, he wasn't the only one. James's cheeks flushed as he licked his lips, staring at Tony's mouth, then into his eyes.

And all of a sudden, it just hit him in a way it hadn't before, the understanding that James was _it_ for him, was the rest of his life in a way that wasn't even a little terrifying. It was exhilarating, it was a little like flying into that building all over again, the one he'd flown into the day he and James came to their entirely mature decision to give this craziness a shot.

Tony didn't want to know how his life would have turned out if that day had gone differently. He lacked the ability to confidently state he'd have been okay, without James. It was tough, he was biased—all he could see were all the ways in which James had made him stronger, better. There was no arguing the happier aspect, but all the rest? He couldn't see himself confronting his demons without knowing James was there to help him through it. 

Here he was watching a Muppets movie with a one year old Steve Rogers, and feeling _happy_. That was kind of insane. Just a couple days before the same idea had him fishing under the couch for his emergency bottle of booze, and now the idea of having a drink was the farthest thing from his mind. 

And all of that was because of James. 

"I love you," Tony said, wrapping his fingers around the back of James's neck, pulling him into another kiss. 

"Love you, too," James answered, his smile a bit dirty when they pulled apart. He switched into Russian, whispered, "We _need_ to get naked tonight."

"Definitely. Absolutely. Hell, give Steve to Sam, or even Clint, I don't care. Let's go!"

James laughed, settled back down against Tony's side. "No, we're doing the parent thing, remember? Later. Another hour or so won't kill us."

"It might," Tony argued, but James wasn't budging. 

Which was okay, really. It was good. He glanced around the room, smiling to himself. Bruce was staring longingly at Natasha, who was seated in a chair by herself, so as not to raise suspicion. Sam and Thor were on the couch with Bruce, Thor watching the Muppets with a look of childlike wonder on his face. Clint was sprawled on the floor in front of Natasha's chair, propped up enough that she could run her fingers through his hair.

"Uh, I'm sure you all know by now—we love to gossip—but, James and I are getting married."

"Congratulations, Anthony! James!" Thor bellowed over the rest of the team. "You must let me throw you a celebratory feast in honor of your nuptials."

"Thanks, Thor," James answered, grinning up at Tony. 

"Have a date yet?" Sam asked. 

"We're waiting to see how things play out with Stevie. I'd like him to be my best man," and this was said to the person in question.

Big blue eyes stared up at them, a smile on Steve's face as he squealed, laughing and shrieking, "Bu bu!" when James tickled him.

"Hear that? We're waiting on you, little guy." Tony leaned over and blew a raspberry on Steve's cheek, keeping the giggling going. 

When he looked up again, there was a strange look in Sam's eyes, but a moment later it was gone, Sam smiling again. Tony tried to imagine how he would feel if—back when they were still flirting around the idea of being something to each other—James had managed to get himself de-aged. Not only would it have been kind of creepy, and weird, and awkward, it would have left him feeling incredibly lonely. Even before, he’d begun filling his empty moments with James, wanting. Hoping.

Tony kissed the top of Steve’s head, and then James’s for good measure. Felt guilty for enjoying having this tiny version of Steve to snuggle, while he wondered if Steve had any idea how much the grown up version of him was missed. 

Maybe they’d need to start showing him.

+

“Shh,” Tony hissed, pressing his hand over James’s mouth. “Super hearing!”

James grabbed hold of him and yanked, sending Tony sprawling onto the bed on top of him with a little yelp of surprise, which, okay, he couldn’t really complain about that. Especially not when James manhandled him until their mouths could connect, and kissed him again.

Tony shifted until he was straddling James, choking back some noises of his own when strong hands grabbed his ass, squeezing and using the hold on him to rock them together. James sucked on his tongue, pulling away a moment later to drag his mouth along Tony’s jaw, whispering, “You should soundproof the bedroom.”

They shook with quiet shared laughter, James smiling up at him in a way that made Tony feel incredibly lucky. “I’ll put that on my to-do list,” Tony promised, kissing him again, and again, until James made another of those low, throaty noises of pleasure, rolling his hips. “Shh.”

James slid a hand up under Tony’s shirt, used the other to pull him into another kiss. It was dirty and wonderful, just the right kind of desperate and hungry, until they were just grinding against each other, and holding on tight enough to leave bruises.

Tony couldn’t get over the hair, or lack thereof, had to get a fistful of it, tug until James hissed and let Tony kiss and suck hungrily at his neck and jaw and earlobe. He could feel the thick outline of James’s cock, rocked his own against it, caught James’s moan with his own mouth. Strong arms wound around him, and they grappled for a moment until they were face to face on their sides, tangled together and shoving roughly at each other’s clothing.

It felt like it’d been years, rather than a handful of days, years and years of being deprived of touch and taste and the feeling of James in his arms. Tony felt drunk on the sensation, especially when James wrestled him out of his shirt, throwing his own across the room with it, and they were skin against skin.

Their breathing sounded incredibly loud, and Tony wondered if that alone would be enough to wake Steve, put an end to all of this before it could really begin, was so distracted by this concern that it caught him by surprise when James licked into his ear, then whispered, “I wanna get fucked so bad, Antoshka, but there’s no way I’ll be able to stay quiet.”

Tony groaned against James’s shoulder, running his hands over every bit of James that was bared. “It’s been ages since I’ve come,” he dragged his tongue along James’s collarbone. “I’m not going to last very long, anyway.”

James chuckled at this, even as his fingers began working at unbuttoning Tony’s pants. He was already flushed, his pupils blown, mouth puffy from the kissing. Tony wanted to devour him.

“How are you so beautiful?” Tony hissed, shaking his head. 

James just grinned at him, and tugged at his zipper. “How are you so dressed?” he whispered, yanking Tony’s pants down over his hips, then off in one efficient movement. While James refocused on removing his own pants, Tony took care of his underwear, tossing it across the room with the rest of the clothes.

He hardly had time to appreciate the view before he was being pulled in close, strong hands sliding down his back, over his ass, squeezing and kneading even as James brought them crashing together. Tony had a hand back in James’s hair, the other curled around his neck, kissed him roughly, trying to muffle their noises of pleasure as skin slid hotly against skin, James’s hard cock butting up against his own, setting his nerves on fire.

Tony loved fucking, loved being fucked, sucking, rimming, stroking, all of it, but sometimes it was a blast to just rub up against someone like a wild, sex-starved madman, until you came all over them in a hot rush. Luckily, James was _also_ a fan, which was why ninety-eight percent of the time showering together quickly degraded into frottage instead of actually getting clean.

He would have loved the time and luxury of sliding his cock into James’s criminally tight ass, but there was no way that was happening without one or the other of them accidentally waking Steve.

This, though, shoving James down onto the bed, climbing on top of him, and lining their cocks up before grinding against him? This they could theoretically get away with. James grabbed for his hips, guiding Tony’s movements, head thrown back in pleasure, a whine of annoyance escaping when Tony stopped, until he saw the intermission involved grabbing lube.

James rocked his hips, his cock sliding along the underside of Tony’s own even as he watched Tony flip the top open and pour a little lube out onto his hand. With a grin, he began working it down and over each of them, stroking, squeezing. James held out his own hand, grinning wolfishly up at Tony, waggling his fingers demandingly until some was squirted there, as well.

With a grunt, Tony found himself pulled down into a slow, deep kiss, while James's slick fingers wrapped around their cocks, just stroking a few times before he stopped, just kept his hand wrapped tightly around them. 

Tony sighed, thrust into James's hand, their foreheads pressed together as they stared down at themselves. James was all gorgeous, hard muscle, lit blue by the glow of the arc reactor, his stomach rising and falling rapidly in time with his hectic breathing. Tony let his gaze wander, momentarily distracted by the newness of the tattoo, which looked to be almost healed already.

"Kiss me," James whispered, pumping once, twice, squeezing around the heads of their cocks, making Tony see stars.

So Tony kissed him, hungrily, panting into James's mouth, his entire body alive and tingling with pleasure. He flicked his thumbs over James's nipples, then pinched, lightly twisted them, smiling at the way this made James tremble beneath him. He did it again, and again, until James was whimpering, and his hand began stroking them again.

Tony stared down into James's eyes, feeling centered for the first time in a long time. Feeling like life was getting back to normal, finally. Relief washed through him, even as James's hand slid over his ass, metal finger stroking teasingly between the cheeks.

"I love you," James mouthed against his cheek, their sweat slick bodies rubbing frantically against each other.

"Mm, James," he hissed, biting and sucking greedily at his neck, "I love you, too. Can't wait to fuck you again."

"We need that vacation," James said, his voice breaking as he swallowed a whimper. "You and me on Sexperiment Island, with like a gallon of lube."

Tony kissed him again, shaking with laughter. "Yes, please," he sighed.

"M'gonna make a list," James whispered, his eyes bright and beautiful. "Day one is just, oh, tongues."

"Oh, yeah, lick you everywhere," Tony agreed. He twisted James's nipples once more, then slid his hand down to join in the fun. "Taste everywhere. Make you beg me."

"Not if I get you begging first," James giggled, dragging his teeth over Tony's chin. "Day two we can add in, ah, sucking."

There was something to be said for having to keep quiet; it added to the urgency in a rather spectacular way. Tony struggled against a groan of pleasure. He was close, could feel James throbbing against him, in his hand, and let go, pushed James's hand away, too.

"Punk!"

Tony grabbed his face, and kissed him quiet, letting James take control of the rhythm, his strong hands guiding Tony's movements as they writhed together. Slick, hot skin, cock against cock, and his tongue in James's mouth. 

"Antoshka," James growled, pulling away, biting into his own lip as he rocked, and thrust up against Tony, fingers digging into Tony's skin, and then his mouth fell open in a wordless cry, and he began emptying himself. 

Tony pushed back enough to watch, taking hold of James and pumping his cock, stroking and milking him through the end of his orgasm, the body beneath his tense, and still spasming with pleasure.

James reached for him, but Tony batted his hands aside, just thrust down into the puddle of come decorating James's chest, hissing his pleasure, crying out in surprise when a cool metal finger snuck around to push into his ass. That was it, he was gone, so, so wonderfully gone, coming so hard that it kind of hurt, but in the best possible way, splattering the underside of James’s chin—which, _yes_ , so fucking hot—strong hands holding onto him as he came, and came, and came.

As soon as Tony finished, James yanked him down into the mess so they could kiss again, and then they were both giggling, and trying to keep quiet, and not doing a particularly good job at it.

James flipped them, and to Tony's utter delight and surprise, began licking him clean, starting with his chest and working his way down, carefully slipping his lips down over the head of Tony's oversensitized cock, pushing his tongue against the slit, gathering the last little bits of come, while Tony covered his mouth with his hands and tried not to make too much noise. 

When he was done, James stretched beside him, and Tony wasn't even that surprised to see him already back at half mast. That happened sometimes, the best possible side effect of whatever knockoff version of the serum HYDRA had used on him. 

Tony crooked his finger, and James knelt above him, keeping his sticky skin clear of Tony’s while they kissed again. Slow, lazy, teasing kisses, Tony licking the taste of their release out of James's mouth with a sigh. Slowly, James shifted so he was lying beside Tony, pulled him in close, legs tangled together as Tony reached down and took James in hand, stroking him back to full hardness.

"Dunno 'bout you, but I feel much better," James whispered, kissing the tip of Tony's nose.

"Mm, you feel great," Tony agreed, squeezing the head of James's cock, and making his eyes flutter closed momentarily. "Think you can keep a lid on it if I go down on you?"

"Let's find out," James suggested. 

But he kept a hold on Tony, wouldn't let him up for a moment, just kissed between his eyes, his cheeks, along his jaw, then worked his way back to Tony’s mouth. A teasing play of lips and teeth and tongue, and Tony found himself so relaxed he was tempted to close his eyes and fall asleep like that. 

Tony nipped at his lower lip, changing up his stroke, dragging his lips along James's lightly stubbled jaw on the way to his ear. "I want your cock in my mouth," he murmured, tugging at James's earlobe. "Wanna make you come again," and James shuddered, his hips beginning to move as he thrust into Tony's hand.

This time, he let Tony up, allowed himself to be rolled onto his back, sighing his pleasure when Tony spent a bit of time licking his nipples, teasing them with teeth, and tongue, brushing his lips back and forth against them until James was pink in the face. 

He grabbed a handful of Tony's hair, and pushed, making Tony giggle. He allowed James to guide him down and down, then kissed the head of his cock. Licked across and around, swirling his tongue, teasing with his lips. 

James let go of his hair, which was a bummer, but he was just grabbing pillows to shove beneath him so he could have a better view. Tony approved, spreading James's thighs and settling down between them, looking up at the beautiful man he was going to marry, and winking before lowering his eyes again. 

He was admittedly biased, but he thought James's cock was absolutely mouth wateringly gorgeous. He'd been up close and personal with quite a few in his day—some larger, some thicker, or smaller, with more of a lean, or uncircumcised—but he hadn't ever felt quite such an attachment to another man's dick before.

"Gorgeous," Tony whispered, licking and sucking around the base before dipping lower and showing James's balls some love.

"You're gorgeous, Antoshka," he heard, the metal fingers returning to play with his hair. "Can't wait to marry you."

Tony grinned, his heart picking up the pace. "Know what kind of wedding you want?"

"The intimate kind. Just the family. But with dancing," he sighed. 

He teased behind James's balls with his tongue, slowly licking his way back up to the head of his cock before finally sucking him into his mouth. Tony's eyes fluttered closed, and he groaned much louder than he'd intended.

James gave his hair a tug of admonishment. "If we gotta stop cause you wake up Stevie," he began, but never finished, because Tony started sucking his cock with great enthusiasm. 

Sighing, spreading his legs farther apart, James guided Tony's movements with the hand in his hair; he knew full well that ( _with someone he trusted_ ) Tony loved this particular give and take, loved the feeling of James pushing into his throat, loved being filled, got off on the wet, desperate noises, the smell and taste of James everywhere. 

Tony braced himself on an elbow, then slid a finger up into his mouth alongside James's cock, getting it slick with spit. James's breathing hitched, because he knew exactly where that finger was going, and changed the angle of his hips, drawing his knees up in anticipation.

Normally, he might tease, but Tony was waiting to hear a cry, or a noise, or for JARVIS to just announce that Steve was wide awake again, and he wanted James to come in his mouth before that happened. 

Without any preamble, he worked his finger into James ass, and began hammering his prostate. James surged up with a cry, slapping his hands over his mouth to smother the noise, before grabbing Tony's hair again, and fucking up into his mouth almost roughly. 

It was perfect, and he could feel his own body fighting his exhaustion in an attempt to respond, as he allowed himself to get blissed out on James, working him hard, and hungry, and desperate until a cool hand slid down to his face, and stroked lovingly. 

He looked up, and James was smiling down at him, lower lip caught between his teeth. Tony maintained eye contact, knowing that was something that James got off on in a big way.  Tony worked a second finger into his ass, watching James's mouth open, lower lip trembling, his chest heaving as he worked himself into a frenzy, fucking himself on Tony's fingers, while simultaneously thrusting into the heat and suction of his mouth. 

James's thighs were shaking, and he'd gone and pulled some sort of tawdry romance novel cover pose, his head thrown back, a hand at his mouth to muffle the sounds. He was beautiful, and all for Tony, all for him to take to pieces. What a fucking gift.

With a cry of pleasure, James tensed, held onto Tony for dear life, and fucked into his mouth with wild abandon, coming down his throat, gasping, shaking, and brat that he was Tony just kept sucking, and working his fingers, until James whined, " _Fuck_ , Antoshka!"

And, sure enough, there was a loud, surprised sob from the other room. Unable to help himself, Tony burst into hysterics, disentangling himself from James, who just blinked up at him stupidly. 

"Okay, I might actually be cleaner than you," Tony wheezed, “I’ll go handle this.” He stumbled out of the bed, managed not to smash his face against the floor this time, and rushed into the bathroom to wash his hands. "J, patch me to the nursery?" 

The crying was louder, and Tony sighed, scrubbed at himself as quickly as possible. "Hey, my little Captain," he said soothingly, "I'm on my way, hold on, okay?"

The sobbing segued into sniffling, and a forlorn, "On?"

"Yeah, buttercup, I'm almost there, it's okay."

When he swept out of the bathroom, James was ready with pajama bottoms and one of his shirts, a sheepish smile on his face. "Sorry. I'm gonna shower, then I'll take over so you can get some sleep, okay?"

Tony grabbed the clothes, pulled them on hastily, then kissed James. "Love you."

He gave James's ass a smack, grinning over his shoulder to watch James rub his bottom and flip him off as he bustled out of their room, and into Steve's. He was standing in the crib, lower lip sticking out pathetically, looking miserable.

Without being asked, JARVIS brought up the lights a bit, and Tony smiled. Sure, he was tired, and would have rather just flopped down next to James and slept the sleep of the sexually triumphant, but this wasn't so bad, really. 

"On!"

"Yup, I’m right here," Tony said, lowering the side and lifting him out of the crib. “Sorry we woke you up. I know you’re a super baby and all, but it’d be great if you’d go back to sleep for a while.”

Steve snuggled up against Tony’s chest, and he plopped down on the chair they’d dragged in. James had been using the room as a meditation space, so there was very little furniture in there, but one wall was decorated with a half finished mural Steve had been painting for him. Brooklyn as it looked back in the day, as seen from an old building Steve and his Bucky would spend hours sitting atop, dreaming together, never knowing what the future had in store for them.

“See that?” Tony asked, kissing Steve’s forehead. “You’ve got unfinished business, Cap. I can sit in here with him, but it’s not the same—he needs you, the real you, to come back. No rush, just… once you’re ready, okay? We love and miss you, Steve Rogers.”

The blue eyes looking up at him seemed sadder than they should, so Tony just shut his mouth, and held on tight.

“When you’re ready, baby,” he whispered as Steve began to nod off, “it’ll be better this time, I promise.”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I OWE YOU ALL ANSWERS TO YOUR COMMENTS.... but, um, I might have been distracted by accidentally writing 15K of Tony/Bucky in response to a prompt over on imagine. *cough* If you like daddy!Tony and iwannabeadaddytoo!Bucky, keep your eyes peeled for that.
> 
> Meanwhile, OMG! Bucky's pants came off, and stayed off, and we finally have some sexy times up in here. Whew. Finally. 
> 
> And, um, I'm sorry, because this fic has obviously given so many of you PTSD—so many of the comments were along the lines of, "So happy... which means we're all going to die next chapter, right!?" I hug all of you. Here is a Red Cross blanket and some hot chocolate. I can't say there won't be more feels, but they'll only lead to happiness. Tony & Bucky are rock solid, though, so fear not. They'll help Steve get through this. :)


	14. Chapter 14

“That’s bluer.” Tony felt a strange bottom dropping out sensation. “Right? Or… No. That’s definitely a _lot_ more blue.”

Bruce was grimacing, his jaw tight. He gave a curt nod. “About sixty-three percent more than our initial reading, to be precise.”

Tony’s eyes widened, and he mouthed the number to himself, the arc reactor momentarily feeling huge and heavy in his chest. Steve stared at him, and Tony felt exactly like he was drowning in blue. The blue glow of the reactor, the blue swirling in the air around Steve on the displays, the blue of those bright, trusting, innocent eyes.

He knew all about drowning. About being held under, struggling, fighting against the instinctive, primal need to suck in air. Funny how your body still fought you on that bit of common sense, even if all inhaling was going to get you was closer to death. 

Hand shaking, he used it to cover his mouth, closed his eyes, needing to block it all out for a moment. Bruce’s hand was warm against his back, fingers splayed between Tony’s shoulder blades as if to hold him upright. 

When he could talk, he asked, “Do you feel this way about the color green?”

“I don’t know, how are you feeling?”

Tony giggled. “Like throwing up.”

“Mm. Less like puking, more like punching.”

Warm, strong fingers, keeping him steady. Bruce had lovely hands ( _he’d always thought so, at least_ ) and Tony disliked the idea of him damaging them by punching something. Disliked the mental imagery of Bruce with swollen, bruised knuckles.

"That's a twenty-seven percent increase in less than twenty-four hours," Bruce said after a moment. "The day before was twelve point eight percent. Tony, we have no way of knowing if we'll have another period of stabilization, or if what we're looking at is an end-cycle rapid acceleration."

"I know."

Tony swallowed, and decided now was as good a time as any. He leaned over and pulled up a command line, then began typing with shaking hands, Bruce leaning over his shoulder and reading along.

_A huge part of me wants him to stay like this._

Bruce looked at him, eyes wide, then glanced over at Steve, who was happily playing with the holographic game Tony had built for him. 

_Yes I know how awful that is. Tony Stark = Selfish Fucking Asshole!!!_

The hand tensed against his back, and Tony forced himself to look at Bruce. There was sympathy there, not anger, which was something at least. 

_I've seen you with him. That's not selfishness. It's love._  

A laugh fought its way past his lips, and Tony allowed Bruce to pull him into a half hug. 

The last few weeks had been interesting. No distracting emergencies, or freak alien attacks to occupy their time. Just Steve, and James, and something like a routine. Something like a normal life. He’d always thought it would be impossible to fit anything else ( _anyone else_ ) into his schedule, but to his utter surprise, it worked. 

They started their mornings earlier than he’d like, but if they timed it just right they could shower together, share toothpaste flavored kisses, and jerk each other off to start the day right. He had some interesting bruises from their various shower sessions, always managing to crack an elbow or knee against the tile while coming against James’s slick, soapy skin.

They took turns with Steve in the mornings, getting his stuff together, getting him dressed, and changed, and fed. If he was heading for the workshop, Steve came along, but Tony had returned to work at SI, not wanting to leave Pepper in the lurch. When he was in the office, Steve spent his time with James, the two of them sending Tony little videos to brighten his day. 

He’d even gotten down to R&D a few times, mostly to nerd out with Peter, who had everything under control, much to Tony’s delight. It was strange, interacting with people outside of the immediate circle of trust; he’d caught himself time and time again preparing to show Peter photos of Steve.

Pepper had put together a solid story involving the death of a distant relative of Tony’s that had resulted in the fair haired, blue eyed boy coming to live with him. If they needed it, they’d be ready, and after getting hitched, the world would meet Steven Stark, legally adopted son of James and Tony Stark. Tony had all the fake documentation and expensive paperwork in his office, maybe spent more time than he should looking at it when he should be focusing on other things.

James and Natasha had been running them all through drills, with the little Captain supervising. In the evenings, Tony joined in so he’d be as ready as any of them when the inevitable call to assemble came through. 

As a result, they'd reached a point where it felt almost normal to see dark hair when Captain America's helmet came off. James was wearing the uniform like he was meant to, was confident and relaxed on the comms, was a fucking marvel with the shield, and was no longer fighting angry.

Steve seemed happy, and relaxed, and each day when Tony and Bruce measured him he'd shown only tiny, consistent progress. Nothing remarkable. Steady, stable, and so Tony had allowed himself to relax into their new life. It wasn't that Tony had forgotten they were operating on borrowed time, it was just that there hadn't been quite as much of a sense of urgency.

He hadn’t lost the plot entirely, either. In an attempt to help Steve heal, Tony had implemented Operation Steve Appreciation. He’d set up a schedule for each member of the team to have one on one time with Steve. They could spend the time interacting how they wished, as long as they used part of it to explicitly tell Steve how much the grown up version of him was missed.

The first few attempts hadn't lasted longer than ten minutes due to Steve screaming bloody murder until Tony or James showed up, but they'd all kept at it, some of them having more success than others, until Steve was comfortable with all of them, and everyone was able to have their hour of Cap time.

Tony wasn't sure what his friends had been saying to Steve—he wasn't even sure exactly what James had told their fearless leader—but what mattered was that Steve kept hearing he was missed. _Steve Rogers_ , not Captain America. 

Coincidentally, this resulted in him and James having a little more private time together, even if it was just an hour here and there. The first time they'd made it past the fifteen minute mark, he and James had stood in their living room, unsure what to do with themselves until the hour was almost up, and Tony realized they were almost out of alone time. He'd dropped to his knees, and licked his lips, and watched James's eyes take on a hungry, needy glint. 

They'd been more prepared after that, so that as soon as Steve was picked up, they were on each other like wild, starved creatures. Tony wasn’t sure James had ever fucked him that hard and desperate before without one of them having almost died in a battle first. He had dark lovebites hiding beneath his clothing, fingertip shaped bruises on his hips, and carpet burn.

He wasn’t any better, though. On one occasion he'd already had James bent over the arm of the couch, pants down around his ankles and Tony's tongue in his ass when—two minutes after leaving—Thor had knocked on the door to grab the diaper bag he’d forgotten to bring along. 

Half the time they didn’t even bother undressing, just shoved clothing out of the way. Sometimes they didn’t even make it _that_ far. Tony was almost embarrassed about coming in his pants right up until James did the same. Natasha’s eyes had narrowed when she dropped Steve off, immediately noticing Tony was no longer in his suit, and James had on a different pair of jeans, but she kindly refrained from commenting.

As surreal as it seemed, once they'd finished ravaging each other and were left tangled together sweaty, sated, and stinking of sex, they typically just held each other and anxiously awaited Steve's return.

"Want to stay in, just the three of us tonight?" James asked. 

His voice was like a rough rumble, all raspy and ragged around the edges. It made Tony shudder with appreciation to hear it. Just minutes before, he'd had Tony's hands tangled in his hair, had deep throated Tony's cock until he was gagging, groaning loud, and filthy, and jerking himself off while doing it. Tony could only gasp and shake while watching and holding on to James for dear life.

"Sure. Battle ducks during bath time?"

James had grinned, pressed a kiss against Tony's throat. "Sounds great."

Because this—taking care of Steve—had somehow become normal. Not just normal. Wonderful. Surprisingly satisfying. It’d become their life.

Tony looked over, found Steve smiling at him, all warmth and trust and love, and he wanted to cry. He wanted to grab Steve, call James, and run away somewhere that would mean it was okay to just keep going on like they had been. 

But Steve wasn't their _child_. It didn't matter that Tony and James fed him, bathed him, played with him, changed him, took turns getting up when he couldn't sleep through the night. The world didn't care that Tony sang to him every day, or lived in an expensive suite covered with fingerprint art. It didn't matter that he'd become addicted to the weight of Steve curled against his chest, or burying his nose in Steve's soft, sweet scented hair.

Steve wasn't his son, he was their _friend_ , he was Captain America, and...

"Can you watch him for a minute?" Tony asked, squeezing Bruce's hand and smiling a very fake smile at Steve. 

"Tony..."

"Five minutes," Tony insisted, ruffling Steve's hair and kissing his forehead and not looking Bruce in the eye. 

He all but ran into the hallway, took a shuddering breath, remembered who he was dealing with, and then got in the elevator, not wanting Steve to hear him. "Up. Just go up," he gasped.

Tony managed to wait until they were three floors up before he slid down the wall, wrapped his arms around his knees, and began shaking, gasping for air, the panic gripping him hard.

"Sir, may I call..."

"Yes, please, let him know not to come, just," he pressed his hands against his chest. "Hearing him?"

JARVIS didn't need anything else. Moments later, James's voice came through the speaker in the elevator, calm and even. 

"Antoshka," James said softly, "exhale, nice and slow," and just like that, he could move air through his lungs again. "Nice and slow."

Ragged still, but it was air. "We're running out of time," he gasped, biting down hard into his lip to stop the sob.

"Shh, you don't need to worry about that right this minute," James insisted. "Let me worry about that. Want me to go pick him up?"

"Yeah," Tony squeezed his eyes shut. "Don't want him to see me like this."

"It’s okay. Tonight, it's an Avengers slumber party," James said. "We'll talk to him as a group. Waffles for dinner. We can braid Thor's hair."

Tony burst out laughing, and if there were tears in there, too, then no one needed to know. “Can… before that, can we have a bit of time, just the three of us?”

“Definitely,” James answered. “You, and me, and Stevie. I’ll make us some lunch. Then we’ll all have a nap together.”

Tony nodded, then laughed at himself, because James couldn’t exactly hear him nodding his head. “Good, yes, that sounds great.”

“Head on home, Antoshka,” he said softly, and his voice was like a caress. “Head into the bedroom. I’ll be up with him, but I’ll make sure he doesn’t see you until you’re ready.”

“Okay.”

The elevator continued up, and up, taking him home, James saying, “I love you, Antoshka,” and, “it’s gonna be okay.”

It _wasn’t_ going to be okay, though. Something had shifted and broken inside of him, and as a result, he could no longer contain the varied and conflicting feelings fighting for dominance. His chest felt hollowed out, which was kind of hilarious, because technically at least part of it was.

He hadn’t said it to James. Hadn’t said it out loud even to himself. He’d only been able to type it at the blinking command prompt, Bruce’s hand anchoring him as his understanding of himself tilted wildly on its axis, leaving him spinning out of control.

Maybe it’d always been there. Maybe that was the _true_ source of the panic, right from the beginning.

_“Is this something you wanted?”_

James had asked, and he had answered with a resounding _no_ , and James had been relieved, and they had laughed, but…

But.

There was a difference between not wanting something and being scared shitless by something. Before, it had all seemed to make perfect sense. In ways that left him angry and sick to his stomach with shame, Tony understood that he was too much like his father to be trusted with that sort of responsibility. Only, Steve had changed that somehow. It might not have been something he wanted, not at the time he’d been asked, but now?

There was a knock at the door.

“Yup, come on in,” he answered, wiping at his eyes. 

The door opened, Steve peeking around it with wide eyes, face cracking into a smile as he squealed happily and took off running. James was right behind him, trying to suppress his own smile, grabbed Steve under the arms and lifted him up onto the bed, where he promptly threw himself at Tony.

“Hi, cupcake,” Tony sighed, closing his eyes and holding Steve tight. “I missed you.”

James plopped down onto the bed beside him, the smile sliding off of his face. “Antoshka?”

“It could be tomorrow, or it could be two hours from now,” he answered in Russian, sighing at the feeling of James’s fingers in his hair. “He’ll either come back to us, or… stay. Like this.”

James shifted closer, tugging until Tony and Steve were both in his arms. Tony felt a kiss pressed against his forehead. “I know… this will sound awful, Antoshka, but part of me doesn’t want it to end,” James whispered into Tony’s ear.

Tony’s eyes snapped open, and he tilted his head up, crushed his mouth against James’s, relief and sorrow rushing through him. They held onto Steve, and Tony laughed, even though he wanted to cry. “Me too,” he gasped, and James kissed him again, hard. “Fuck, James, me too, I don’t…” and again, so as to silence him.

“We have him right now,” James said, leaning down to kiss the top of Steve’s head. “Let’s pretend while we still can.”

So they did. They settled down more comfortably, Steve sandwiched between them, and watched him nap, holding onto him and each other tightly, as if afraid to let go. 

At some point, Tony dozed, waking again at the feeling of James climbing out of the bed.

“Sorry. Natasha calls. Are you…?”

Tony rubbed his eyes and nodded. Steve was already wiggling with excess energy, refueled from his nap and ready to play. “M’gonna take him down into the workshop for a little bit. The, ah, slumber party?”

James laughed, dropping a kiss on each of their foreheads. “I’ll make the arrangements. See you in a couple hours?”

Twenty minutes later, they were downstairs together, Steve running around the now babyproofed workshop ( _and oh how Pepper’s mind had been blown over that when she’d visited_ ), saying his hellos to U and DUM-E before JARVIS activated one of his many holographic games.

“What should we work on today, babyface?” Steve seemed to have no answer. “How about something for Steve Rogers?”

Steve’s eyes lit up, and he clapped in the air, making one of the digital llamas in his game explode into twenty smaller llamas. Another game wasn’t what Tony was thinking about at all, though. They were running out of time, and he needed to stop being such a goddamned hypocrite.

“Nope, sorry,” he answered, rolling his shoulders. He flipped through his files, digging down until he got to Steve’s folder. The grown up Steve. Swallowing around his sadness, Tony pulled up the last thing he’d been working on for one of his best friends. 

“Check it out, Cap,” he said, exploding the view so little Steve could get a better look. “Do you remember? The last time we all had dinner together, you whined about how I always carry you bridal style? I was thinking of something that’d make it easier for you to, ah, ride me. Wait, that sounds dirty,” he muttered, zooming in on part of Steve’s uniform. “My apologies, Mon Capitaine.”

Just because, Tony left a holographic representation of the shield floating in the air nearby as he worked. It felt right. Music played softly in the background, until he was humming along, getting in the zone, Steve no longer exploding digital llamas, content to watch him work instead.

“If this were a different kind of day, you and I would be having a real conversation right now,” Tony said, brows drawn together in a little furrow. “You used to sit right over there all the time, sketching, chatting. That was… I think you kept me sane, after Pepper left. Don’t know if I ever said thank you for that.”

Steve burbled sadly, and Tony paused in his work, stared down into his blue eyes. There was something different there, and it wasn’t just his imagination. No matter how hard he tried, no matter who told him otherwise, every instinct he had told him that this, all of this, was his fault.

“I hurt you, didn’t I?” Steve stared at him, and Tony knew that he was _right_. Whatever it was Steve needed to heal, or get over, it was because of him.

Heart seizing up in pain, Tony crouched down so he’d be at eye level. “Steve. I let you down, somehow, or—I don’t know _how_ I hurt you—but whatever it was, or is, I would never do it on _purpose_. We both know I’m a colossal fuck up, and…”

To his surprise, Steve burst into tears. It was so sudden, and so forceful that Tony was temporarily paralyzed. Steve ran at him, little hands scrunched up in fists, face twisted up in pain, and threw his arms around Tony’s neck, hugging tightly. 

Tony swept him up in his arms, held him tight. “Hey, okay,” he crooned, “I’m sorry, I... Shh, come on, calm down, sweetie.”

Sighing, Tony rocked him, feeling sick with guilt. Whatever he’d done… 

One song ended, and another began, the sound of a record, the lonely, staticy sound of a guitar, followed by a dropping out sensation as he realized what was playing. He’d accuse JARVIS of doing it on purpose, but he’d built the playlist ages ago, and this was just the next track. Which meant he’d known this song was in the mix, had done this to himself.

It was playing quietly, quiet enough to comfortably talk over. Quiet enough to sing over. And he sung to Steve every day, so this didn’t need to mean anything at all. Even if it _did_. Pink Floyd played in the background, Tony began to sing, Steve tucked against his chest, the crying slowly subsiding as he sang.

And it was fine, didn’t even hurt until the very last verse, which was when Tony’s voice broke, and he had to force the words out, even as he loosened his hold on Steve so that he could look right into his big blue eyes as he sang.

_How I wish, how I wish you were here._

_We're just two lost souls swimming in a fish bowl, year after year._

_Running over the same old ground._

_What have we found?_

_The same old fears._

_Wish you were here._

Tony opened his mouth, finally ready to say everything he’d been trying and failing to say every day since Operation Steve Appreciation had begun. Everyone else had been following protocol, letting Steve know that the real him, the grown up Steve Rogers, was missed. Everyone except Tony.

Because Tony had been a selfish fuck instead, had been too busy enjoying being Steve’s parent. He’d told Steve he was loved, told him all day long, but he’d been talking about the little boy currently in his arms. Which was stupid, because the truth was… he _missed_ his friend. There was a gaping hole in his world, Steve’s absence like a knife in his heart, and he _needed_ to tell Steve that, now, while there was still a chance to get him back. As much as he didn’t want to give up the little family they’d built, he’d never forgive himself if Steve… 

“Interesting choice for a lullaby.” Tony jumped, spun on his heels, trying to collect himself. “Sorry, thought you heard me come in.”

“Hey, Sam,” Tony swallowed past his guilt and heartache. “Uh, guessing its time for waffles?”

“Something like that.” There was a strange expression on Sam’s face. “You okay?”

Tony nodded, and let go of Steve, watched him run over to take Sam’s hand. “Fine. Hungry.”

Sam studied him as he closed out his files and turned off the music, but didn’t say a word as they headed up to the common floor. It was oddly awkward, and uncomfortable, and he slammed a hand down on the stop button.

“You know, don’t you?” Sam blinked, eyes widening, and that was a yes. “This is my fault, and you know _why_ , and yet you’re not saying anything.”

Sam shook his head. “Not my place to talk.”

“We’re running out of time,” Tony shouted, exasperated. “How can you…”

“Hey, time or no, I’m not betraying his trust,” Sam snapped, jabbing a finger into Tony’s chest, “and you don’t get to guilt trip me for being a good friend.”

“Good _friend_?” Tony sputtered, not believing what he was hearing. “I can’t fix him if you won’t tell me what’s broken!”

Steve burst into tears again, and Tony groaned, reaching for him, but Sam was there first, sweeping Steve up into his arms.

“He’s a _person_ , Stark, not one of your machines,” he said softly, a hand curled possessively around Steve’s back. “You can’t just fix people like that.”

Sam reached around him and smacked the button so that they continued on, his eyes flashing dangerously for the short remainder of the elevator ride. Tony tried to will his heart rate to lower, feeling lost, and confused, and conflicted. 

When he looked into Steve’s blue eyes, though, mostly he just felt ashamed of himself. By the time the doors slid open, he’d looked away, sick with guilt.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Oh. Look. The Feels are back! Poor Tony. He never knew he needed to be a ~~dad~~ mom, and now he's running out of time. 
> 
> Need a lullaby? Give a listen to [the Pink Floyd song](https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=NavVfpp-1L4) Tony sang to baby Steve.


	15. Chapter 15

James took one look at him when he stepped out of the elevator, and knew something was up. Tony just shook his head, not wanting to get into it.

Of course, Sam seemed to have a different plan entirely. He handed Steve off to James, then whirled on Tony. Only, he didn't look mad, he looked somewhat mortified. 

"Can I have five minutes, out on the balcony?" he asked. Everyone carefully avoided looking at the two of them, and Tony considered going with his first instinct, which was to tell Sam to get bent. One look at Steve's sad little eyes changed his mind.

"Sure."

Once they were out there, Sam sighed, ran a hand over his hair. "Look, I'm sorry. That was," he trailed off, shook his head. "Uncalled for," he eventually went with. 

Tony felt a little of his defensiveness slip away. Anyone looking would be able to pick up on how uncomfortable Sam was. "No, I get it. You care about him."

"Yeah, I do," Sam sighed, leaning against the railing, arms folded across his chest. "But so do you."

They shifted uncomfortably, until Tony cleared his throat, dared to look up from his shoes again. "Sam..."

"I don't know if telling you what I know will make things better, or _worse_ ," Sam blurted. "Which is why I've been keeping my mouth shut."

Tony nodded, looked back through the glass. James wasn’t even pretending not to be watching them, Steve wrapped up safe in his arms. Steve must have said something, because James dragged his eyes away from Tony, looked down and cracked a brilliant smile, answering. Seeing it made Tony's heart lurch, so he turned aside, refocused on Sam.

"It's not just betraying his trust—he'd forgive me for talking out of turn if I was doing it to try to help him—it's the idea that saying something might hurt the people he cares about. That? He'd never forgive _himself_ for that."

Tony squeezed his eyes shut, and exhaled slowly. "Right. And considering his current state, that sounds like pretty good motivation to remain a toddler."

When he opened his eyes again, Sam was watching him. "Exactly. So I don't know what to do, Tony. What I know? It doesn't have a solution. There isn't anything for you to do with the information, except tell him you know..."

"Which gets us right back where we started," Tony interrupted. Sam nodded at him, and sighed. "Damn."

Tony scratched at his beard, let the faint sounds of the city wash over him. He wanted to know—of course he did, how could he not—but at the same time...

"Don't tell me," he decided, wondering if he'd just made a horrible mistake. "He can tell me himself when he's back. If he wants."

Sam exhaled, relief evident in the way the tension left his body, and Tony felt bad for him, wondered how many times he'd had this argument with himself. Scared to speak, but equally scared to remain silent.

"If you change your mind—think it’ll help at all—or…”

"Yeah, I'll ask then," Tony agreed. "You’re a good friend, Sam. I know he cares about you. And I'm sorry, because I feel like I've made a mess of this for you."

Sam shook his head, eyes narrowing. "No, man, this isn't on you. Some assholes messing with things they don't understand caused this mess. We’re just dealing with the fallout."

Tony shrugged, but he couldn’t deny that it was nice to hear. Especially from Sam. “Same as it ever was.”

Sam snorted, then cleared his throat. "Tony. I don't know if any of the others have come right out and said it, but you're _good_ at this," he gestured toward the group, to where Steve was watching them from the safety of James's arms. "Both of you. It's entirely possible the best thing for Steve is having a second chance at life as your kid. I don't know. I'm just selfish, I guess, because I miss _him_ , the man he was."

"Me too," Tony answered on an exhale, clasping Sam's shoulder. "I'm not giving up on him. Are you?"

Sam smiled, and it was a little sad, a little beaten down, but Tony's was probably the same. "Hells no."

"Right. So. We're having an Avengers slumber party tonight. We're going to make it clear to him he's running out of time."

"Yeah, Bucky said. About that; any idea how much time we have left?"

Tony thought of the blue swirling around Steve, his stomach clenching. "It's not behaving in a consistent manner, so we don’t really have any way of knowing. If you want my best guess, the answer is not a lot."

Sam nodded, arms tightening around his chest as he studied Tony's profile. "Do you think he actually understands what we've been saying?"

Tony thought of the look in Steve's eyes earlier, of the way he'd responded when Tony had begun blaming himself. "Yeah. I'm almost positive."

Sam surprised him by pulling him into a quick hug, which Tony returned albeit a bit awkwardly. When they pulled apart, Sam worried at his lower lip, then said, "Order him."

Tony's insides did a little flip flop. "What?"

"He'll listen to you," Sam insisted. "It might not always seem like it from where you're standing, but he listens to you more than anyone else. If you order him to come back?" He shrugged, looked away. "Might be worth a shot, anyway."

Tony swallowed past the sudden lump in his throat. Sam nodded, clapped him on his shoulder again, then headed back inside. Tony watched him leave, but then turned to look out over the city, his heart racing for reasons he couldn't explain.

Except...

He scrubbed a hand over his face and shoved his thoughts down and down before they could surface, because it was crazy, too crazy to contemplate.

Tony felt a bit more in control of himself by the time James joined him, his hand warm when he curled it around the back of Tony's neck.

"Everything okay?"

"Yeah," Tony lied reflexively, then caught himself. "Well, no, not really, but between me and Sam, yeah, it's okay."

"And the rest?"

"I don't know anymore," Tony answered truthfully. "Honestly, you're the only thing I'm sure of right now."

James stood with him, arm around Tony's waist, looking out over the city. "We gotta let him go," he whispered, and just like that there was no pretending anymore.

"I know," Tony answered, momentarily struggling with a sensation akin to being stuck in free fall.

He'd been there before, spinning out of control, plummeting, left to flail and fight and... But this wasn't anything the suit could protect him from. It wasn't something JARVIS could compensate for.

It was just his heart breaking. 

The time had finally come, and so Tony gave up. Let the fight wash right out of him, leaving him feeling emptied, hollowed. He took a deep breath, exhaled slowly, let the pain and loss wash through him. 

When he spoke again, he sounded determined. "I know."

James studied his profile for a moment, pressed a kiss to Tony's temple. He could feel the weight of the things they wanted to say to each other, but keeping quiet was safer. They could mourn together later, when it was all over. 

Tony nodded, looked down at his hands. "Let's have waffles."

Of course, with the way their luck went, it should have come as no surprise that they’d just finished up cooking the first batch of waffles when a frantic Maria Hill called. 

“Not sure what we’re dealing with yet. Whatever these things are, they’re tearing up the city!”

“Oh, come on!” Clint shouted, throwing down his fork. “Are you kidding me?”

“Yeah, that about sums it up,” Tony agreed, shoving a still too hot waffle into his mouth. “Ah, ah!” He exhaled around the steaming food while scooping Steve up out of his high chair.

"Bring your plate," James suggested, clapping Clint on his shoulder. James grabbed Tony’s arm, fingers digging into the skin as he looked down into Tony’s eyes. “Coincidence?”

Tony worried at his lower lip, because he’d been wondering the same thing. “No idea.”

“If this is gonna work, we both need to go.” James’s eyes shifted, focusing on Steve. “Sorry, Stevie,” he sighed, stroking a hand over the top of Steve’s head before kissing his forehead. “Time to assemble.”

“Bu bu?”

James shook his head, jaw tight. “I’m Captain America now, remember?” He gave Steve another kiss, then planted one on Tony as well, switching to Russian. “I know Pepper would do her best, but…”

“I was thinking Sam,” Tony answered, already on the same page. “Go. I’ll be right behind you.”

James nodded, then wrapped them up tight, holding them safe in his arms for a minute before saying, “I love you both,” and running off after the team.

"Sam, wait," Tony called, and this wasn't going to be awkward at all, nope, not even a little bit. "I need you to take Steve."

"What?"

Tony scrubbed a hand through his hair, and grimaced. "Look, no time to argue. Gear up, but keep Steve with you. You're staying in the Tower. If we need to, we'll call you in, but..."

Sam had a right to look disappointed. He’d bent over backwards to accommodate the team, attending every practice session, all with the understanding that he’d be called on to serve.

"Right now, keeping up appearances is important, so I can’t spare any of the others,” Tony explained in a rush. “I know this seems like… like a glorified babysitting assignment, but you’re the only other person I trust to keep him safe.”

Sam opened his mouth to protest, but maybe he saw the way Tony's hands were shaking, or the fear in his eyes. "Shit. What're you thinking?"

"I'm thinking someone found out, and they're luring us away in order to get their hands on a baby super soldier," Tony said, squeezing Steve tighter. "Maybe that’s just my paranoia, but either way, I don't know if James and I can do this unless we know he's safe. So can I count on you or not?"

Sam nodded, his expression set and serious, and Tony knew he'd fight to his last breath if that's what it took. "Yeah, I got him."

"Thank you." Tony kissed Steve again, gave him another hug, then handed him over. "Mommy has to go be a superhero right now," he said, regretting the joke as soon as it left his mouth.

Steve reached for him, making a soft, desperate noise, and Tony felt sick. For all he knew, this would be the last time they saw each other, and the idea of leaving Steve behind just killed him. He glanced at Sam, but there wasn't any judgement in his brown eyes, just sadness. Sympathy.

"On," Steve wailed, little grabby hands in full effect, eyes welling up with tears. "No, no, no!"

Tony cupped his chubby little face in his hands. "Steve. You heard your Bu Bu. Time to assemble. You know I have to go. I don't want to, I _have_ to. Because this is what we do, right, you and me? We fight the good fight. I wish you were coming with me, but you're staying here with Sam. He’ll take you to the safe room and JARVIS will give you a feed so you can keep an eye on us from there, okay?"

"Sir," JARVIS interrupted. 

"I know, J." Tony swallowed around the lump in his throat, but allowed himself one last hug. "I love you Steve Rogers," he said against the top of Steve’s head. He handed him back to Sam, nodded.

Walking away was the hardest thing he’d ever had to do, and considering how his life had turned out, that was saying a lot.

He shook, felt like he was being torn in two as he watched Steve’s face scrunch up in misery, crying and reaching for him as the elevator doors slid shut. Tony wanted to run back to Steve, stay with him, but knew he couldn’t. 

“This is why,” Tony said, staring at his reflection in the elevator doors. “JARVIS, do me a favor? Remind me of _this_ if later on I get any stupid ideas about being allowed to have a family.”

Maybe this—the all encompassing gutted feeling—was why his own father had kept his distance. 

He’d always assumed Howard was disappointed by him, or just plain didn’t love him, but what if it had just hurt too much? What if distancing himself, or hiding at the bottom of a bottle was the only way he could handle doing what needed to be done, while still coping with the reality of being a father? 

Tony shifted uncomfortably, rushed out of the elevator, trying to push the idea aside as he suited up, but it stuck with him nonetheless.

If Steve stayed as he was, it was only a matter of time before Tony let him down, hurt him spectacularly. Fucked his life right up. Maybe he wasn’t as bad at the hands on stuff as he’d suspected he’d be, but he was still committed to playing superhero, which meant his life—the lives of everyone he loved—was almost constantly in danger.

A strange loneliness washed over him, one he hadn’t let himself feel in quite some time as he thought of his parents, thought of the last time he’d actually seen them. 

The distance, the lack of a loving relationship between him and his father certainly hadn’t made it any easier when the time had come to throw dirt on his coffin. Tony had to imagine it was a thousand times worse when you were losing someone that actually spent time with you, held you when you were scared, someone that made you feel safe, and loved. 

The idea of putting Steve through something like that, just because he enjoyed taking care of him? It seemed the height of selfishness.

The Avengers were consenting adults, and none of them had been exactly living the free and easy life before coming together. Out of all of them, Tony himself probably had the most years of risk free living under his belt, and he’d been taken and held for ransom at least a couple times before turning twelve.

There was Sam, of course, but even he’d been to war, knew the risks associated with his involvement. Tony had to think that if their roles were reversed, Sam would be the better man—he’d walk away from all of this, and dedicate himself to being a good father.

Tony sighed, squeezing his eyes shut for a moment before blasting off. It wasn’t a fair comparison and he knew it. Sam had the luxury of being a normal person. He was a Stark, and he’d still be a Stark even if he gave up being Iron Man.

“Suck it up,” Tony told himself, exhaling sharply. He switched on his comms, and tried to turn off the rest of his brain. “Cap, I’m enroute. What we got?”

There was a slight delay before he heard, “Good question. They look sort of like robotic spiders. I was thinking we blow them up."

"Sounds like a solid plan." Despite everything, Tony grinned as he picked up the pace. "Save some for me!"

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Oh, look, Sam and Tony hugged it out! I know Sam upset some people last week ( _we're all so protective of Tony, aren't we? I LOVE IT!!_ ) but remember—Bruce also knows what is going on with Steve's heart and hasn't said anything. He's probably just as conflicted as to whether or not it would help or make things worse. Sigh. I'm not sure how many chapters are left at this point. I don't ever want it to stop *sniff* but I'm going to be responsible and not stretch things out when I have run out of plot, so... there's that.
> 
> BUT! This just means I'll get to move on to other things in the universe, like maybe heading back into the past to visit the time all of Tony's clothes were destroyed by a condiment bomb. Or forward to their wedding! Mwa ha ha~!


	16. Chapter 16

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> This chapter is officially 70% better/more sensical than it originally was all thanks to 27dragons!

“Wake up.”

Tony attempted to burrow, wanting nothing more than to escape the voice, escape the intrusion. It had to be early—way too early to be dealing with people, at the very least—and usually if you played dumb ( _or dead_ ) these things worked themselves out. 

A hand gripped his shoulder, shaking violently, and yeah, not cool. Waves of nausea washed through him, and even though his eyes were closed the room still felt like it was spinning. Hm. Thoughts slipped along with consciousness, but he’d surfaced enough to realize he wasn’t dealing with a hangover, he was just straight up still drunk. _Definitely_ too early for human interaction then.

“Fuck. _Off_.”

“Tony.” 

And there went the blanket, ripped away with enough force to send him actually tumbling from the bed. He had just enough time to fumble for the trashcan, not that it did him any good. He puked on the floor next to it, and once he was no longer retching he had to laugh, because close but no cigar.

“S’a good, ah, metaphor. For life. Mine.” He swiped at his mouth, grimacing. “Is it a metaphor? I dunno. There’s some sort of message in there, though.”

“You’re pathetic.”

“Or, you could just sum it up like that, I guess.” Tony sighed, tipped his head back, resting it against the side of the bed. “Hi, dad.”

“What are you doing here? You’re supposed to be at school.”

Tony tried not to show any sign of reacting, but if the clock was accurate ( _and he had no reason to think otherwise_ ) he’d only gotten two hours of sleep after a solid day of drinking. He was, understandably, worn a little thin.

Tony could almost hear the lecture his mother would receive later for coddling him. “Mom wanted me home for a visit.”

The longer he sat there staring up at his father, the more convinced Tony became that he’d fallen back asleep and had started dreaming. Howard was standing with his back to the window, and light was pouring in around him, making him seem larger than life while simultaneously keeping his face in shadows. Little dust motes swarmed distractingly in the air around him, adding to the surreality.

“What, nothing?” he said after the silence became too uncomfortable. “You have no idea _why_ she wanted me home, do you?”

“Your mother doesn’t bother me with her little flights of fancy.”

Tony spat in the trashcan, awake enough now that the smell of the vomit was getting to him. He’d need to clean it up before he could pass out again, would need a shower to wash away the cold, dried sweat on his skin. 

Carefully, he used the bed to help himself to his feet, hating the way the room spun from the movement. “It’s my birthday.”

His father sighed, and Tony could _feel_ it, right down in his bones. It wasn’t the sigh of a man feeling shame over forgetting his only child’s birthday. It was the sort of sigh that made Tony feel like he owed his dad an apology for being born in the first place.

Somehow, he managed to keep his voice from breaking when he offered a half hearted, “Well, I guess we can’t all be born on the Fourth of July.” 

Howard ignored the dig, which was probably for the best. “You’re turning sixteen?”

Tony pressed his lips together. Now that he’d stood up, he could see his father’s eyes better. As a result, he could tell Howard knew full well how old he was _actually_ turning. Pretending not to know seemed kind of petty from where Tony was standing. Like he’d get all high and mighty if his own father actually remembered how old he was? 

Not likely. He got the message, loud and clear. 

He.

Was.

Not. 

Important.

Swallowing around his urge to scream in his father’s face, Tony quietly corrected him. “Fourteen, sir.”

“Time to grow up, Tony,” Howard suggested. He pointed to the floor, then gave him a little shove, so that he fell back onto the bed, the room spinning violently around him. “Clean up your mess. I don’t ever want to see you in such a state under this roof again. Do you understand me?”

Tony wrapped his arms around himself, shivering through the nausea. “Yes, sir.”

“Don’t let your mother see you like this.”

Which was funny, really, considering Howard’s love of the bottle. Tony figured after seeing his dad ‘like this’ that he’d be a laugh by comparison. Sure, he was puking on the floor, but he wasn’t throwing things, or threatening anybody. He was an adorable drunk according to his classmates. Very friendly. Affectionate. More likely to curl up in your lap than try to hit you.

Howard was almost out of the room when Tony said, “I love you, dad,” because he was some sort of masochist, apparently. Howard paused long enough for Tony to understand that he’d heard the words, then continued on his way.

Tony cleaned up his mess. He drank some water. He brushed his teeth, avoiding looking in the mirror. He showered. He walked back to his room, stared at his bed, and suddenly the  thought of sleeping seemed terrifying.

Quiet, as quietly as possible, he walked through the empty house, down and down, until he found the man he was looking for. Jarvis glanced up from his newspaper, a smile transforming his serious features.

“Happy Birthday,” Jarvis said, and just like that, Tony was crying.

"I wish _you_ were my father," he blurted, hardly able to see through his tears. Jarvis was right there, comforting and concerned, but there was still a rigidity to the embrace. 

"A father-son relationship is difficult," Jarvis said cautiously. His hand was warm where it stroked Tony's hair. "In time, you might feel differently."

Tony wondered how much time would need to pass before that was true. He also wondered if Jarvis had answered that way out of respect for his employer, or because it was kinder than just outright telling Tony he didn't _want_ to be his father. Maybe it was both.

Anger welled up inside him, short lived but bitter. Why did people even have kids if they weren't going to love them? His father could have dumped him at an orphanage, or done an exchange for a blond haired, blue eyed boy, and named him Steve. Maybe then he’d have actually had a shot at some happiness in his stupid life.

“I’ll never… _never_ have kids,” he stammered, pushing aside his tears and stepping out of the now awkward embrace. 

“You might find your opinion on that matter changes with time as well.”

Tony shook his head. Jarvis didn’t understand. “Doesn’t matter if I _want_ them. It’s too late,” he said, feeling calmer. “I’m already too messed up.”

He saw sadness in Jarvis’s eyes at this remark. Tony watched his mouth open, dreading what might be said on this subject, but could only blink in confusion at the words and noises that came tumbling out from Jarvis’s opened mouth.

“Sir, wake up.”

Sickness washed over him again, the world shifting before his eyes, and as if from a great distance he heard some sort of alarm bleating.

“Wake. Up.”

Tony blinked, Jarvis’s face swimming before his eyes, everything shifting, and a wall of pain hitting him. He groaned, squeezed his eyes shut, trying to pick something out of the cacophony buzzing in his ears.

"Shut off the comms,” he ordered, opening his eyes again. And, excellent, the absence of shouting voices was wonderful. “How long was I out?”

“One minute and thirty-six seconds, sir.” JARVIS sounded relieved. “I've notified the Captain of your status. He requests you turn the comms back on."

"Gimme a minute. How 'bout visuals instead."

"Bringing displays back on line now.”

Tony squinted and fought off the urge to puke as light poured in. Definitely a concussion. Oh, cool, and things were on fire around him. Great. The ground was scattered with twisted shards of metal, some of them twitching suspiciously as he stumbled in a circle and got his bearings.

“Sir, the Captain is eager to speak with you."

"Tell Steve I'm fine," Tony snapped, running down the armor's damage report.

"Iron Man!"

Tony prepared to unleash a tirade on JARVIS for opening the channel, except it wasn't Steve's voice. It was James, which...

Another wave of nausea washed over him, so he opened the faceplate in order to puke, ignoring James's frantic voice for a moment. That helped clear his head a bit, at least. 

Right. James was Captain America now, because Steve was in diapers. No wonder JARVIS overrode his order. Probably worried about brain damage.

"J, what's the status at the Tower?"

"The Tower is fine," James—Captain America—snapped. "What the hell just happened?"

Tony grimaced, because he was a little sketchy on that part. JARVIS helpfully scrolled diagnostic readings across the display. 

“Spiders go boom," he said, forcing a nonchalance he didn't feel. "All signs point to an EMP blast. Nice touch. Glad I built in those redundancies."

Tony spotted another wave of spiders picking through the rubble nearby, and got his shiny metal ass off of the ground. His new vantage point gave him a nice view of the crater he'd left behind when crashing.

"Copy that, Iron Man. Any idea on the blast radius?"

With a resigned sigh, he opened all channels on the comms, and targeted the legs of the things below, disabling but not destroying the mechanical spiders.

"Uh, not sure," he answered, trying to cope with the dizziness. "Enough to bring me back down to earth?"

Tony pulled in and reviewed the readings, feeling a little better once he learned that everyone else seemed to be holding their own. Apparently he was the only one injured, which was fine by him. He had a lot of practice by this point. 

The Hulk was the closest, apparently having been on his way to intercept. He was currently having a blast ( _ha!_ ) smashing the spiders, making short work of them, which in turn allowed Tony to get some readings. 

"Okay, looks like the effect registers approximately 543 meters straight up," he said with a frown. "Obviously someone was thinking of me. Sweet, really."

"Right, hang back, provide support," Captain America ordered.

Tony did as instructed, began picking things off from a distance, his head and side throbbing. 

"Hey, J, make a note to modify Sam's wings? Would've been bad if he was hit by one of those blasts."

"Noted, sir."

"Thanks," Tony struggled to take a deep breath and grimaced. "The ribs—break or just bruised?"

JARVIS helpfully showed him he'd cracked a rib; just a hairline, but a fracture nonetheless. It was going to be a bitch carrying Steve. 

And just like that, he couldn't breathe any longer, everything just seized up, the armor momentarily jerking in the air as he sought to regain his emotional balance. 

Maybe it was the concussion, or the lingering sensation of being emotionally eviscerated by his father, but everything from the last month came crashing down around him, thoughts cascading until he was left with the fundamentals of the problem they’d all been dealing with.

Childhood. Steve Rogers. Healing. Tony Stark. Love.

Tony let his thoughts settle, numbed, knowing he was right. It left him raw, and confused as to how he could have missed it. Then again, he’d missed a lot—misunderstood a lot—because of his relationship with his father.

He could lie to himself, make excuses, but the truth was, for whatever reason, his father had resented him instead of loving him, which was shitty, but then a lot of things were shitty. There was no point in crying about it for the rest of his life. It was a disservice to himself and the people he cared about to continue filtering everything through Howard Stark’s idea of what his son was, or what he should be.

Jarvis might not have been on the money about everything, but he’d gotten part of it right. He _could_ be a good father, Tony knew that now. He hadn't even been at it a month and he was already better than either of his parents had been. Sure, that wasn't setting the bar particularly high, but still. It was something. Something to consider, maybe.

Raising Steve, though. That was different. He’d agreed to stop pretending, which meant he needed to tell Steve how he was feeling, and be brave, and just… accept the truth. As much as it gutted him, left him torn right down the middle with what if’s and could have beens.

And if Steve wanted to stay a child even after Tony’s confession, if a fresh start at life was the only way he could be happy, Tony could do that with him. But he owed him the truth first. He needed to know he’d tried _everything_ to get their friend back.

"JARVIS. Can you open a channel to Steve?"

"Shall I monitor the comms for you in the meantime?"

"Yeah, thanks."

"Everything's quiet here," Sam announced as soon as the connection was established.

"Good. Can... I need to say some things to Steve. I'm kind of hoping I can trust you to, ah, not repeat them."

Sam's expression darkened, but that was okay. It meant he was taking this seriously. "I'm putting him in front of the camera, then consider me officially not here."

"Thanks." A moment later, Tony felt warmth and affection wash through him, just the sight of Steve's face enough to push everything else aside for a moment. He was willing to bet his father never once had that reaction when seeing him. "Hey, cupcake. How you doing?"

"On!" Steve squealed, then babbled his displeasure, apparently taking note of Tony's compromised state. He didn't think there was any blood visible anywhere, but he honestly had no idea. He had a feeling he looked wrecked either way.

"I know. I'll be okay, it's just a concussion," he swore, smiling despite himself. "Steve. Steve, baby, I'm _sorry_."

Tony struggled with his mouth, momentarily distracting himself with the cleanup taking place below as he let his emotions settle.

"I'm sorry about a lot of things. I’m sorry I didn't have this conversation last week, or the week before, because I’m getting this awful ‘it’s too late’ feeling, and I don’t want it to be too late. I need you to come back. _You_ , Steve, the real you."

The blue eyes watching him looked scared, wary, and Tony wondered if Steve knew what was coming.

"Not just for the Captain America stuff," Tony said. "But because you're my friend, and I’m selfish. I love you, Steve Rogers. There’s… There are things, about me, and, ah, my childhood. Stuff Howard did, or said, that, um, left me at a disadvantage, in a lot of ways. Especially where you’re concerned. Things that you don’t know, but maybe you figured some of it out already, I don’t know.”

This had been hard enough to do with James, when it was just the two of them. Tony tried to forget Sam was in the room, which was easier said than done. But, really, what did it matter anyway, in the grand scheme of things? Sam was the missing piece of the puzzle, had more or less come right out and told him what was going on without _explicitly_ telling him.

The answer had been there the whole time, staring him in the face, but as he’d told Jarvis all those years ago, he was messed up. Too twisted around and broken down by Howard Stark to have anything but blinders on when it came to love and Steve Rogers.

Tony’s memory was good, so once he removed his own prejudices about himself from the equation, it was all right there, waiting for him.

Loki had singled him out when speaking to them all, explaining the nature of Steve’s emotional wound. Then, when he’d questioned Thor, the Asgardian had all but given him the answer, if he hadn’t been too stubborn to even consider the possibility. 

After all, he and James were the only ones Steve had remembered, and Loki specifically spoke to Thor about the “bonds of love” being the reason why. He’d had no problem understanding why James was worth remembering, but immediately channeled his inner Howard and dismissed himself as a fluke.

Sam, shaking his head, sad little smile on his face. 

_“Not sure how I’m supposed to compete with Tony Stark.”_

Sam again, telling him what he thought would be a surefire way of getting Steve to return.

_"He'll listen to you. It might not always seem like it from where you're standing, but he listens to you more than anyone else."_

Tony would have laughed if it all wasn’t so heartbreaking.

“Hey, for a smart guy, I’m pretty stupid when it comes to feelings. Steve, please believe me when I say I didn’t know. That you…” Tony struggled, couldn’t help himself, but managed to spit it out eventually. “That you’re in love with me.”

Shit. He didn’t want to cry for this, he wanted to be brave.

“Man, this sucks,” Tony whimpered. “I know all about loving someone you can’t have, and that’s the last… last thing… I would… _Steve_.”

He’d expected screaming, or wailing, but the big blue eyes watching him looked more shocked than anything, the chubby little features frozen.

“I should have figured it out, huh?” Tony tried for a smile, didn’t quite make it there. “Maybe you even tried to tell me, and I didn’t understand. So, I’m sorry. I wish I could, ah, just take you back in time and show you how it was, so you’d understand why I am the way I am. Not, um, not as an excuse, just. I mean, fuck, Steve, how long have I been hurting you?”

"On," Steve moaned, looking distressed, the tears finally making an appearance. 

“I love you. I can’t give you what you need, but it’s still love, Steve, _so much_ love. The idea of never… never hearing your voice again?"

Steve was sobbing now, and Tony squeezed his eyes shut. “I’m not just asking for me, but for James—for Bucky—because he loves you, too. So… so I’ll have taken you away from him."

Tony exhaled shakily as Steve wailed. He bit down hard on the inside of his cheek. "I can't turn off my feelings. Believe me, I've been trying my whole life. The guilt will eat away at everything. I'll always blame myself, it’s just who I am."

Chubby little hands shook in the air as Steve waved his arms in agitation, his lower lip sticking out, brows drawn together, eyes bright with tears.

"So, moment of truth, my little cupcake; I've loved every minute of taking care of you, but you're not my son. And pretending otherwise isn't fair to anyone, least of all you. Please, Steve, please come back. I miss you so fucking much."

Tony opened his mouth, prepared to continue begging, but the feed cut out, leaving him looking at the battlefield again.

“What the hell!”

“Sorry, sir, but…”

With a growl of frustration, Tony took note of the large, angry looking metal spider beginning to make its way up the side of the building he was hovering above. A dozen more appeared, the backs opening up, and something popping out.

He swallowed, tried to get his head back in the game.

"Oh, great, they're bigger now." And he sounded like he’d been crying. Perfect. Tony momentarily cut all channels, screamed some profanities at himself, then switched back on, channeling his inner press circuit diva. "Hey, those look like mounted cannons."

"No duh," Hawkeye answered. Tony watched one of the cannons swivel his direction. Make that _all_ the cannons. "Uh, I think they're targeting you, by the way."

"Of course. I'm very popular with mechanical spiders."

Tony waited for them to fire, analyzing the blast even as he evaded, not wanting to be hit with anything. He’d had quite enough of crashing for the day. "Okay, looks like an EMP gun," he said. "There seems to be a theme."

"Are you out of range?" Captain America asked, "I don't want to smash these and knock you out of the sky again."

"Aww, you say the sweetest things, my fearless leader. Go for it. I'll evade."

Tony watched as the team began wiping out the latest spider iterations. "J, I think want a pet spider. I’m gonna hack into these mechanical beasties, keep up suppressive fire for me while I play."

Which was actually tricker than he'd expected. Not impossible, or even terribly difficult, just trickier than expected. “Alrighty, shall we,” he began, before realizing his mistake. If he hadn’t been emotionally eviscerated and concussed he probably wouldn’t have tripped the failsafe, but it was too late now.

“Sir, I’m detecting a significant energy spike within the creatures.“

“Heads up, Avengers, these spiders are about to go boom,” Tony shouted over the comms, even as he sped away. “Don’t know what the…”

The explosion drowned him out, shockwave sending him tumbling through the air like a rag doll. He braced for impact, but it must have been his lucky day.

“Boom, indeed,” Thor remarked, catching Tony around the waist.

“Not my finest moment,” he agreed, wincing as they touched down, the impact making his side scream in protest.

Hawkeye landed beside them with gusto, dropkicking a chunk of spider in the process, and scratched his head. “Well, that’s one way to do it, I guess.”

Thor swung his hammer back and forth in the air, grinning happily. “Are there other mechanical arachnids to slay?”

Tony was already reviewing incoming data, but it looked quiet. Maybe too quiet? At the moment he wasn’t exactly confident in his ability to think clearly. The world was spinning again, and he was so emotionally on edge that he felt about two seconds away from bursting into tears.

“Sir,” JARVIS interrupted, “Since the blast, I have been unable to reestablish a connection with the Tower.”

As JARVIS spoke, Tony spotted Captain America and Black Widow approaching, Hulk hot on their heels.

“What do you mean?” Tony asked, panic washing over him. “With Falcon, or…”

“I’m unable to connect with the Tower in any regard,” JARVIS clarified, sounding irritated. “The EMP released during the last explosion has caused a great deal of damage within the area, perhaps compromising the Tower’s communications grid, or the armor. Disturbingly enough, my last reading indicated a _localized_ buildup in energy.”

“Localized in the _Tower_?”

“Yes, sir,” JARVIS answered as James came skidding to a halt beside him, shield slung over his shoulders. 

“What’s localized in the Tower?”

“JARVIS spotted a build of up energy right before losing contact with the Tower,” Tony answered in a rush, “I’m heading back.”

Captain America grabbed his arm. “Not alone, you’re not!”

Tony thought he was going to have to argue for James to stay behind, but apparently wearing the suit gave you an extra special sense of responsibility. He could see how much James wanted to go with him, but instead he said, “Hawkeye, you’re with Iron Man.”

“Please keep in mind I’m not a super soldier,” Hawkeye requested, snapping off a salute before presenting himself for carrying. “If you drop me, Widow will kill you.”

Tony fought the urge to flip up the faceplate, kiss James senseless. He got the sense that James felt the same way, because he shook his head, and said, “Go. Let us know _immediately_ if you need backup.”

“Yes, sir,” Tony answered, adjusting his grip and taking off.

All the way home, all he could think was, “Please be okay.”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Ouch, my heart. Howard, you suck. Also, oh. Tony had an epiphany. And, um, finally had a chat with little Steve. So... that happened.
> 
> *sniff* Probably only one (really long) or two (regular long) chapters left, my dear, dear friends!! Thanks to all of you who have been hanging in week to week, sharing in the squee and screaming along with me as events unfold. 
> 
> ♥ ♥ ♥ ~ love you all ~ ♥ ♥ ♥


	17. Chapter 17

“Well, it’s still there,” Clint said as soon as they spotted their home, “that’s a good sign, at least.”

Not good enough as far as Tony was concerned. “J, anything?”

“Scans show no signs of damage," JARVIS reported, and a tiny bit of the tension coiled within his belly lessened. “Reports indicate the Tower was evacuated approximately eight minutes ago, which coincides with the buildup of power I detected.”

“That’s gotta be a good sign,” Clint pointed out.

“Evacuations are a _good_ sign? Remind me; what’s a bad sign again?”

“How about fire, and explosions, and people screaming and running in circles?”

“Yeah, fair enough, that’d be a pretty bad sign.”

Clint gave the best approximation of a shrug that he could manage with the way Tony was holding him. “Whatever happened, everyone was able to get out and nothing came after them.”

“I’m digging this newfound optimism,” Tony answered, just for something to say, something to keep his mind off of worrying. Steve was in there somewhere, needed his help, and Tony could feel every last bit of himself vibrating with a barely contained sense of urgency.

“It’s a thing I’m trying.”

“Coming in high,” Tony announced, adjusting his grip on a whooping Clint. For someone supposedly worried about being dropped, he seemed to be having fun. Maybe it was part of that thing he was trying. "Steve is the first priority."

"Roger that," Clint answered. "You can let go, I'll head in my way."

Clint kicked off of the armor, showing off a bit as he flipped down onto the roof, but in the blink of an eye he was in, and on his way. Tony continued running scans, reassured by the lack of anything interesting he encountered, right up until he was inside the Tower.

Everything was dark, lit only by the red backup bulbs scattered throughout, a clear sign they were running on emergency power. “Why did I pick red?” Tony asked himself.

“I believe sir wished for that, and I quote, _cheesy movie effect_ ,” JARVIS answered.

“Well, it certainly has that.”

“No sign of Sam or Baby Rogers in the safe room,” Clint reported over the comms. “What’s with the creepy red lights, man?”

“Whatever happened kicked things into lockdown,” Tony answered, changing direction. “I need to head to control, get things up and running again. Was… what did it look like in there?”

“Like someone had a tantrum,” Clint answered. “Chairs and a table knocked over, but nothing actually broken, no signs of, ah, anyone having been injured.”

Tony exhaled shakily, nodding to himself. He wanted to fly through the entire place, see if he could pick up a lead on them, but the smartest course of action was to get JARVIS up and running again. The AI would be able to pinpoint Steve and Sam without issue. That was, of course, assuming they were still in the Tower.

“Protocol states they head to the _other_ safe room."

“On it,” Clint said. “Power cycle the Tower already. This is freaky.”

Tony kept his eyes peeled for any signs of enemy infiltration, but all was quiet, right up until he reached his destination. “Sir, I’m picking up activity on the other side of the door,” his AI informed him. “I’m unable to determine the number of individuals or their locations within the room.”

“Shit. I guess when I shielded it from scans I should have left myself a keyhole or something for snooping. J?"

"Noted."

"Thanks, buddy."

Tony prepared to blast the door off the hinges, but caught himself at the last minute. He wasn’t the only one with permission to enter the area. Pepper could be inside with Parker being proactive for all he knew. Tony gave himself a count of three, then cautiously pushed the door open.

And then everything seemed to slow down, just ground to a halt as Sam spun around, ready to face down whatever was coming through the door, only to realize it was Tony.

“Great, someone who knows what they’re doing,” he laughed, but Tony hardly heard him, because Captain America was standing with his back to the door, hunched over and messing with the control panel.

In slow motion, he watched as the figure rose to his full height, and turned, and Tony couldn’t breathe, he couldn’t think, he couldn’t do anything but open the faceplate and croak, “Steve?”

As he watched, the helmet was torn off, and tossed aside, and there was a shock of blond ( _not brown, not James_ )hair sticking up all crazy. Steve was wearing the most vulnerable expression he’d ever seen ( _love and fear and hope_ ) but then his eyes lit up, everything else giving way to absolute joy.

“Tony!”

Even if he’d had all the time in the world, Tony doubted he would have been able to carefully process and catalog everything he was feeling in that moment. Some aspects stood out, and stuck with him, though. It reminded him of holding onto Rhodey’s hand as he stepped back onto American soil for the first time since Afghanistan. Terrifying, confusing happiness and relief, warring with a raw exposed sensation. But it was also eerily reminiscent of later that same day, when he’d had JARVIS pull up a visual representation of what had been done to his body. Crippling loneliness, and loss and devastation. The understanding that he had been forever changed. That coming home meant _nothing_.

Tony could have spun his emotional wheels for days or weeks or years, but then he had an armful of Captain America—of Steve Rogers—and he could only laugh, and cry, and hold on.

“Steve,” he shouted again, because it seemed to sum things up. “Hang on,” he begged, smacking against Steve’s back and shoving at his shoulders. 

As soon as he had a little room, Tony opened the suit, and stepped free. It was terrifying, even though it should have been the easiest thing in the world. More than most, Steve understood how vulnerable, how very human and fragile he was. Him and his foolish, flawed heart.

Steve reached a shaking hand for him, let it settle against Tony’s chest, fingers splayed over the arc reactor, needing permission. “Careful, I cracked a rib,” he said, before stepping into Steve’s arms.

It was like the completion of a circuit.

Steve curled around him, strong arms encircling Tony's smaller frame, holding tight, but not enough to cause any discomfort. He could feel the slight trembling in Steve's body, wasn’t particularly surprised, because he was shaking, too.

“Hey,” Steve said softly, pressing his face against Tony’s neck. He could feel the dampness of Steve's tears against his skin, and stupidly Tony had the urge to pick him up, bounce him on his hip and tell him everything was going to be okay.

“You’re taller than me again,” he joked, because that was safer. 

Steve laughed, but only because he was expected to. And so what if Tony was crying too? He’d earned his tears. He’d also earned the right to comfort, and so Tony stroked his hands up and down Steve’s back, just as he’d have done for the smaller Steve. 

“I’ve got you,” he whispered, holding on tight despite the pain.

Steve made a scared little noise at this, but the trembling stopped. He sighed, and some of the tension eased out of him. Tony tightened his own grip, stroked Steve’s hair, and allowed himself to appreciate the familiarity of having a grown Steve Rogers in his arms. 

It was still surreal, any way you sliced it. Steve smelled different, but there lingered a faint trace of the baby shampoo he and James had used the night before during bathtime. Part of him mourned, wished desperately for the little boy, even as the rest of him rejoiced at having the man—his friend—back. 

“Miss me?” Steve asked, and Tony wanted to shake him, or hit him, because it was the stupidest thing he’d ever heard. 

Except.

Except, he cupped Steve’s face, and looked, really looked, and it was all there in Steve’s eyes. Tony could see it now, everything he’d made himself ignore, or had reinterpreted as something else over the years they’d known each other. Everything he was feeling was right there, too. Happiness and loss at war with each other. 

Tony kissed him, hands on either side of Steve’s face so that he couldn’t go anywhere, pulled him in close, and brought their mouths together. It wasn’t like kissing James. It wasn’t like kissing anyone he’d ever kissed before. Steve’s lips moved against his own, soft, warm. It was a tender kiss, reverent, and gentle and full of love, but there was no heat. No passion. Only comfort, and happiness, and sorrow.

When they pulled apart, Steve was smiling through his tears, and laughing. “Okay, so that’s a yes,” he managed, voice breaking halfway through. He kept his forehead pressed against Tony’s, hands wrapped around Tony’s wrists.

“Yes,” Tony answered, smiling so hard his face hurt. “Steve,” he whispered, and it was strange watching how Steve’s expression softened, just from the way Tony said his name. “Steve,” he said again. “ _Cupcake_. I am so unbelievably happy to see you.” 

Steve closed his eyes for a moment, but he was still smiling, wide and wild. When he opened them again, Tony just laughed because he could _see_ him. See that beautiful little boy that he’d come to love so fiercely. Unable to help himself, Tony kissed his forehead, pulled him into another hug. 

“We lost contact,” Tony said, sighing. “I thought for sure HYDRA... Damn. I was so worried about you, baby.”

It was strange, seeing the way Steve’s mouth quirked, as he ducked his chin, and his cheeks flushed. Tony almost expected to hear him whine, “Mom, you’re embarrassing me.”

The two of them stood there, hands on each other’s shoulders, just staring into each other's eyes. Tony’s heart rate slowly ticked back down to the normal range. Even though it felt like grief had ripped a hole right through the center of him, he was simultaneously so happy that he could ignore it, push it aside. That could be for later, for him and James to deal with together. For now, he was fearless and content, and so very relieved.

“I was so scared I’d never see you again,” Tony managed, swallowing past the lump in his throat.

Steve’s mouth trembled a bit. “I’m sorry.”

“No, _I’m_ sorry,” Tony insisted, smoothing out Steve’s hair for him.

Someone cleared their throat. “Hey, guys?”

They each gave a guilty start, and turned to find Sam standing there, arms folded across his chest, grinning at them awkwardly. “Sorry to break up the reunion, but should we maybe turn the building back on?”

Right. Tony watched Steve brush aside his tears and straighten up. He gave a little nod, and Tony opened a channel. "Hawkeye? Found them! Looks like the readings JARVIS picked up was from our not so little Steve making a grand entrance."

Tony kept his hand on Steve’s shoulder, thumb brushing against his neck, as if breaking contact might somehow result in Steve disappearing again. Kept his eyes on him, too, watching the gratitude and joy wash across his features as Clint burst onto the channel to reply. Steve’s hearing was good enough for him to pick up Clint’s exuberant voice even without the aid of an earpiece.

"Caps back? He's _him_ again?"

"Yup,” Tony answered, squeezing Steve’s shoulder. “I’m looking at him right now.” Tony winced as Clint shouted his approval, and Steve shook with laughter. “I should have things back up and running in a couple minutes.”

“You gonna tell the other Cap, or should I?”

“If someone’ll hand over an earpiece, I could tell him myself,” Steve said, mouth quirked up in a wry smile.

Tony tugged his free, handed it over. “You got it, boss.”

It was difficult, blocking everything out, trying to focus on bringing JARVIS's systems back online. Behind him Steve made the call, his voice cracking as he said, “Hey, Bucky.”

It shouldn’t matter that his hands were shaking, and his mind was of the opinion he should go hide somewhere for a while. Staring at a wall, trying desperately not to feel sounded like a pretty good way to spend the next few days.

The hand that settled onto his shoulder and gave a little squeeze wasn’t Steve’s. Tony looked up and was momentarily taken aback by the look on Sam’s face. There was gratitude, and understanding. Sympathy. Maybe some fear, and hope. Tony’s wasn’t the only life that had been turned upside down by Steve's return. 

“Thank you,” he mouthed. 

Tony could only nod, and look away, and get the job done. He fixed things, it was what he did, and even if it took a while, he’d find a way to repair the damage Steve’s transformation had wrought. He’d be stronger for it, too; him _and_ James. Had a feeling Steve would be stronger as well.

Sam kept his hand right where it was, all through hearing one side of a tear-choked conversation, and Tony wondered if maybe now he could talk Sam into sticking around. Staying in the Tower with them.

“Wake up for daddy,” Tony said softly, taking comfort in the slight hum that accompanied JARVIS coming back online.

“Good evening, sir. Sorry for the interruption.”

Despite himself, Tony smiled, let Sam pull him to his feet, huffing with discomfort. “We back in business?”

“Indeed. I’ve successfully re-established communications with the outside world. Diagnostics indicate no permanent damage from the energy released during the Captain’s return to adulthood.”

“Glad to hear it, JARVIS,” Steve said. “Other than the broken rib, anything I need to know?”

“Sir is concussed, but otherwise unharmed.”

“Really? You’re back, what, ten minutes and you’re already trying to steal my mom routine?”

Steve smiled at that, but there was a bit of a wobble to it. Tony didn’t think, just reached out and smoothed a hand over Steve’s hair, then down across his cheek, comforting him on autopilot. He was going to have to watch that. Steve wasn’t his anymore.

Only, Steve grabbed his hand before he could pull it away, held it against his cheek, and leaned into the touch. For the space of a heartbeat, Tony was back in a memory, the taste of scotch on his lips and Steve pressed alongside him making him brave ( _it’s now or never, Stark_ ), and so he had reached for Steve ( _fingertips brushing against the warmth of his cheek, and he’s never wanted to kiss someone so badly in his life_ ) hoping and actually believing that what he felt wasn’t one-sided. Steve had flinched, and brushed him aside so carefully, but he might as well have slid a blade between Tony’s ribs ( _there’s your answer, and what did you expect anyway, you pathetic..._ ) for how much it hurt.

It felt like a lifetime had passed between that moment and this, and Tony was willing to bet everything he owned that Steve _knew_ , that Tony wasn’t the only one suddenly stranded in that moment, feeling as if the entire future hung in the balance.

A lifetime of love, and pain, and loss, and discovery, and it felt like maybe they’d finally gotten it right. Tony brushed his thumb against the curve of Steve’s cheekbone, watched his eyelashes flutter as he pressed into the contact, as he held Tony’s hand against the side of his face, and opened his eyes.

Steve swallowed, and licked his lips. “You don’t…”

But whatever he was going to say was cut off by the arrival of Hawkeye. And, sure, he’d have liked some more quiet time, but in a lot of ways, this was better. Tony let go, stepped aside, heart hammering away as he and Sam stood shoulder to shoulder and watched Clint all but tackle Steve with a bear hug, and plant a big wet one on him.

Less than twenty minutes later, they were all back upstairs together, and it was déjà vu all over again, as Steve found himself mobbed by Avengers eager to welcome him back.

“Okay, that actually hurts,” Steve groaned, slapping Thor on the back as he was lifted off the ground, hugged fiercely, and spun in a circle.

“My heart swells with joy at the sight of you,” Thor announced, and several of them groaned.

“Phrasing,” Clint muttered, but Steve just laughed, and accepted the sentiment with a happy, “Thanks, Thor.”

Steve hardly had time to recover before James had a hold of him, and then everyone had to process the strange that was watching two Captain America’s hug as if their lives depended on it. Tony hung back, biting the inside of his cheek as James grabbed hold of Steve, and kissed him, much as Tony had done.

“This looks good on you,” Steve said, and Tony had to close his eyes at the soft, vulnerable noise James made.

“Stevie,” he managed after a moment, and when Tony opened his eyes again, he saw Steve with his own eyes squeezed shut tight, holding onto James as if scared someone might try to split them up again. The two of them rocked back and forth together, while James croaked, “You scared the hell outta me, you punk.”

“You okay?”

Tony jumped, then relaxed, let himself lean against Bruce. “Mm hm. Just a head splitting concussion, and a broken rib.”

A tremor ran through him, subsiding at the light touch of Bruce’s hand between his shoulder blades. “That’s not what I meant, and you know it.”

“Only answer I got at the moment.”

For reasons he would have had trouble explaining, Tony had yet to make eye contact with James. There was an awful, twisted feeling working through him, one that wouldn’t be real until that happened, and so he was trying to put it off as long as possible.

“I’m sorry,” Steve was saying, an arm still hooked around James even as he hugged Natasha.

“You got nothing to be sorry about,” James insisted, kissing Steve’s cheek this time, his eyes bright and wet with tears.

Steve ducked his head, and it broke Tony’s heart a little bit. How long had he been wearing his blinders, convincing himself that somehow Steve had managed to just shake off the war, the way his world had changed, all of the people and places and the life he had lost? He knew all about that loneliness, about the distance, and the terrible, insidious ways your own heart tore you to pieces. More than anyone, he should have been able to recognize it in his friend. 

Now, it was impossible to ignore, to forget. He thought of himself, of Steve a warm, comforting weight against his chest. Closed his eyes for a moment and tried to summon the feeling of Steve there, safe in his arms, before opening his eyes again.

“He’s right, Cap. We’re your family,” he got out, having to pause to clear his throat. “We’ll always take care of you, because we love you.”

Steve’s composure cracked a little at this, but he got it back under control. “I love you, too,” he said, holding Tony’s gaze, sadness and joy in his eyes. “All of you. Tony’s right. You’re my family, and you… Well. I guess what I’m trying to say is, thank you.”

Thor clapped Steve on the shoulder. “Would you not do the same for us, brother?”

“Uh, speaking as someone who _actually_ changed Steve’s diapers,” Tony interrupted, happy to see Steve let himself laugh, muttering, “I’m never going to live this down, am I?” to James. “I just want to go on record as saying, it was an honor and privilege.”

“Okay, I gotta know. How much do you remember?” Clint asked, tossing an unopened beer to Thor before flopping down on the couch. Nat smacked him, while James ruffled Steve’s hair affectionately. “What? I’m not trying to be nosy, s’just there’s money riding on it.”

Sam laughed, then held his hands up. “Whoa, hey, Natasha started the betting pool, don’t look at me.”

“What exactly did we bet on?” Tony asked, folding his arms across his chest, then wincing. The cracked rib was a dull ache in his side that he’d simply lumped in with the ache in his heart.

“Your baby to adult translations,” Clint explained, looking at him like he was stupid.

Steve laughed, and shook his head, struggling to get his smile under control. “Ah. Well. It’s… It’s strange. Um,” he looked up, meeting Tony’s eyes before looking back down again. “There are lots of moments that stand out, but some things are fading. Almost like real childhood memories.”

“Fascinating,” Bruce murmured, shifting beside Tony. “We should probably scan him again, you know?”

“Definitely, but later.”

Clint whined. “So, come on, all the crap Tony said you were thinking or saying. Got anything that’d help me win?”

“At first, it was like you were all strangers. Well, everyone but Tony and Bucky.” Steve scrubbed a hand over the back of his neck and shrugged. “It was terrifying, and frustrating. I’m not sure how much I even comprehended, to be honest with you, but through it all...” He smiled, and there went Tony’s chest, aching again. “Through it all, Tony understood what I was trying to say, even when I didn’t.”

“Damn it,” Clint groaned, fishing in his pockets, and throwing a wad of bills on the table.

“Seriously? You bet against mom?” Tony joked, not entirely surprised when Sam also forked over some cash. “Go to your room, young man.”

Clint shrugged. “I could have sworn you were making half the shit up.”

“Half? No. An eighth? Definitely.”

“You heard him,” Clint said, leaning over and helping himself to a bit of a refund, ignoring the others chiming in on how much should and could be taken from the pool based on Tony’s confession.

And while the rest of them laughed, and celebrated, Tony looked up, right into James’s eyes, the one place he’d been avoiding so carefully. One look into those conflicted blue depths and there was nothing else to be done, no going back.

Tony thought of the little life they'd built around the three of them, thought of James beside him on the balcony. 

_“We gotta let him go.”_

This time, he couldn’t use the cracked rib as an excuse for being unable to take a deep breath. Tony wanted to run and hide, because this wasn’t the sort of thing that should be allowed to happen in front of other people, family or no.

Before he could panic too much, James was there, had a hand curled possessively around the back of Tony’s neck. “Let Bruce give you something for the pain,” he said softly, his other hand warm against Tony’s side, as if he could heal the break just by his touch. “You’re doing the shallow breathing thing Stevie used to do.”

“I can make it a local,” Bruce chimed in, maybe understanding how terrified Tony was of putting any sort of mind altering substance into his body. That particular slope felt far too slippery at the moment. If he started, he might not be able to stop, and he needed to own these feelings, work through them, not run away. He was sick of running away; the shit always caught up to you. Steve was proof enough of that.

“Yeah, okay,” he agreed.

James kissed his forehead, then let go, went over and pulled Steve into another hug. “Don’t you go anywhere,” he ordered, giving Steve a kiss against his forehead to match Tony’s own.

“Wouldn’t dream of it, Captain.”

Tony had to look away at that, stared at the shield currently resting on one of the chairs. Remembered James’s visceral reaction to seeing it waiting for him, of the pain he’d felt over having to tell the man he loved that he needed to try replace the one other irreplaceable person in his life.

But then he was in the elevator, Bruce and James beside him, staring out across the room, sharing a smile with Steve before the doors closed, and left him looking at his own reflection again. Thought of his request to JARVIS, to be reminded of the pain, of the sheer stupidity of wanting another life, one he didn’t deserve.

“Hey,” James murmured, and Tony hadn’t even realized he was sobbing until he felt arms around him, pulling him in close. It didn’t matter, though, because as carefully as James held him, he still hurt himself just by the act of crying.

“Ow,” he groaned, because that sure summed it up. 

It felt like everything was closing in on him, and he wondered if this would ever stop happening. He’d been doing pretty well before the world decided to throw him for one hell of a loop. He’d built a life with James, and thought he’d known what he did and did not want. Now he knew nothing at all, nothing except…

“Slow down, it’ll be okay,” James insisted, fingers carding through Tony’s hair. “We’ll figure it out together, yeah?”

Tony let himself look, really look. James was as gutted as he was, as devastated and as overjoyed. The ache lessened—not entirely, but enough—because after everything was said and done, he had _this_. He had James. They had each other. He didn’t have to do any of this alone, not anymore.

“Together,” Tony whispered, marveling. “I told him, you know. That I loved him. _Love_ him. After all of this, all it took was… was for me to ask. Well, beg really. And you know what? I was right, after all. About this being my fault.”

“Hey, Tony,” and that was Bruce, stepping in close, attempting to comfort with his presence, warm and solid and a much better friend than Tony deserved. “You know that’s not true. You have to know that.”

“Antoshka,” James pressed a kiss against his mouth to keep him from protesting, or attempting to contradict Bruce. The elevator slowed to a halt, and Tony allowed himself to be led into the lab, leaning heavily against James even though he didn’t need to. “None of this is about fault. It’s… I think it’s about letting go.”

“Never been particularly good at that,” Tony admitted. 

Oh, and he was such a coward. After all was said and done, no matter how many times James proved him wrong, there was still the echo of his father, some ghost in the machine, poisoning everything, trying to convince him that James was going to finally realize what sort of man he’d hooked his wagon to, and change his mind.

Listening to that voice had lost him Steve, but it was difficult to mourn a life he’d never lived when faced with the prospect of ruining the one he had. James was right about letting go, and Tony knew it; letting go was what had led him to realize the source of Steve’s pain. Letting go had given him the opportunity to grow somehow impossibly closer to the man he loved. 

James, and what they had together, was everything. Tony needed to let go if that was going to work between them. It also meant he couldn’t keep secrets any more, especially not this one.

“James. I figured it out in the end. He was in love with me," he blurted, convinced it'd be easier somehow with Bruce right there. That maybe it'd hurt James less to hear it if they weren’t alone when he said it. “He loved me too. Almost… almost this entire time.”

Tony had expected anger, or maybe even doubt over his own feelings and plans regarding this particular revelation. Something other than the sad, understanding look of resignation in James’s eyes. 

"Thought he might be," he said softly, his mouth pressed into a thin line. He pushed aside his tears, and exhaled shakily. “Can't really blame him though. All I do is love you. I can appreciate where he’s coming from."

Tony stared in shock and confusion, allowed Bruce and James to lead him over a chair, sit him down. James held onto his hand, and Tony laughed, and winced at the pain this brought with it.

Once upon a time, Steve Rogers had walked into his workshop with a shellshocked, wounded man beside him. Right from the start, there had been something there between them, something Tony hadn’t wanted to look at too closely at the time. Maybe because looking at James Buchanan Barnes forced him to remember what it meant to come home changed, and broken, and ashamed of how your life had been led. That feeling, that all consuming need to do something, make it better, fix it somehow, all while knowing it’d never be enough. Even when he’d begun falling apart. Even when he’d lost Pepper, had almost lost his own life.

Only James, beautiful, damaged James, had helped him put himself back together again. When James held him, said he loved him, Tony could believe it, could drown out the ghost of Howard Stark. James was a gift, had made him a better man, and Tony didn’t want to know what his life would have been like if things had gone differently.

“I’m glad I didn’t know,” Tony said, hissing as Bruce slid the needle home, the momentary flash of pain washed away by the relief of numbness. He took a deeper breath, exhaled softly.

“Bucky is right. This is about letting go.” Bruce disposed of the needle, then stepped between them, hugging Tony. “Howard was wrong about you. My father was wrong about me too.”

Tony hugged back, smiling despite himself. “Guess that’s why we get along so well.”

“Must be,” Bruce agreed, kissing Tony on the cheek. “I’m going back upstairs,” he said, looking Tony in the eyes. “You two should change, and then come celebrate. Steve’s home again because of you.”

“We’ll be right up,” James promised, taking hold of Tony’s hand and waiting for Bruce to leave.

“I am, you know,” Tony said, hating how apologetic he sounded. He hadn’t technically done anything wrong, and yet he still felt guilty. “Glad I didn’t know. In case you were worried about…”

James stepped in close, crowding him, suddenly so in his space that Tony would have fallen off the stool if James hadn’t had a hold on him. But he did, and James didn’t seem inclined to let go anytime soon. He was warm, and tasted of salty tears, smelled like leather, and home, and, “I’m not worried,” he whispered, kissing Tony possessively.

Tony clung to him, hooked a leg around him, pushed against him, wanting James everywhere. The local anesthetic was taking enough of the edge off of things that his side was an ignorable pain, a nice contrast to the tenderness of James’s mouth moving against his own.

James teased his tongue past Tony’s lips, exploring the inside of his mouth as if to make certain nothing had changed. Hands in his hair, cupping his face, sliding up and down his back, as if James couldn’t quite get close enough, couldn’t stay still, needed to keep moving in an attempt to pull Tony closer, to touch all of him. And all the while, he teased and nipped at Tony’s lips, conquered his mouth almost greedily, sighing with a contentment that seemed out of step with the urgency.

“I’m not worried, because you’re _mine_ ,” James growled, tugging on Tony’s lower lip. “You love me, and I trust you.”

“I do,” Tony swore, surging forward to kiss James again.

James cracked a smile, surprised him with a little laugh. “We’ll be saying that soon enough.”

Tony nodded, but then he was crying again, unable to help himself. “Letting go is hard,” he admitted, pressing his face against James’s neck. “You might have to help me some days.”

“You can help me, too,” James said, rocking him gently. “We’ll help each other, just like always.”

“I miss him,” Tony admitted. “Our little Steve.”

“I know,” James sighed, holding him tight enough to hurt. “I miss him, too.”They clung to each other, until James sniffed, and began stroking Tony’s hair. “But for right now, let’s celebrate. Let’s go welcome Stevie home.”

“Yeah,” Tony agreed, sliding off the stool and allowing Bucky to lead him to the elevator. “I can do that.”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> And, we can sigh in relief, because no baby-napping took place, and everyone is tall enough to be an Avenger again.
> 
>  ~~I _think_ we'll have two more chapters? Maybe three? I keep saying this, because it keeps not wrapping itself up. XD~~ Update: 5/5/15: There will be ONE more chapter, because after I wrote it, I realized it was the end. *weeping*
> 
> Next up is Steve and Tony and conversations that are better had when both parties can actually speak, and I promise that won't hurt as much as you'd think.
> 
> Goodbye, baby Steve! Tony will miss snuggling you. Maybe you were cute enough that Bucky will be able to convince Tony that it isn't completely insane for big damn heroes to have kids? *pokes Tony* You know you loved it. *pokes again* Be a ~~daddy~~ mommy!
> 
> As always, all my love for those of you who have been joining in on the insanity along the way, sharing in the feels. *hugs & kisses*


	18. Chapter 18

“Hey.”

Tony smiled to himself, not even a little surprised. Really, he’d been waiting there, waiting for Steve to make his way down to the workshop, to walk in, and shuffle awkwardly by the door, uncertain as to whether or not he belonged. Waiting to see if he was welcome.

“Took you long enough.” Tony smiled a nervous little smile, jerked his head in the direction of the empty spot beside him on the couch, and watched Steve Rogers take a seat. “Drink?”

“I’m good,” Steve answered easily, waving away the offer.

He smelled clean and familiar, hair still slightly damp from showering, the uniform exchanged for comfortable clothes. Tony was oddly disappointed that Steve’s t-shirt was plain gray, and not red with a duck on it. He’d have to see if they made those in incredibly broad chest and shoulders sizes. Maybe custom order some.

“Me too,” he said after a moment. 

Tony rolled the bottle between his hands before holding it up to the light. The liquid settled into place level with the label, the same as it had been before his friend had disappeared in a flash of magic and left behind a scared little boy in his wake.

Steve was watching him, watching the amber liquid slosh around the bottle as Tony spun it once more. 

"The good news is, even though I wanted to, I never took a drink."

Tony thought of the last time he'd held that bottle, and couldn't decide if he wanted to laugh or cry. Losing his mind over the idea of losing Steve. Of raising Steve. Terrified, feeling as if at any moment he might become Howard Stark.

He thought of James, shaking and shattered, looking lost while wrapped up in the red, white, and blue of Captain America's uniform. Of feeling like the world was ending, as James turned, and walked away. 

_I wish you hadn't told me. Not today, not now. While I’m standing here, wearing this._

It would have been the easiest thing in the world to climb back inside a bottle, to say fuck it to his life. Tony was almost positive he would have lost everything that mattered to him in the process if he'd done so.

"I'm kinda thinking if I didn't drink through _this_ I'm probably never going to."

Steve held his hand out, accepted the bottle and studied it. “This is the one I, ah, knocked out of your hand. Isn’t it?”

Tony’s smile was forced, the tightness of it matching the tightness in his chest. “Yup.”

Steve nodded, shifted a bit until he was slouched down the same as Tony, their shoulders pressed together. “Feels like that happened a long time ago.”

It had been the night he’d told Steve that he’d found Bucky Barnes, then casually suggested they swing by and pick him up in time for dinner. He’d expected tears and gratitude, but Steve had been shocked and confused that Tony had been keeping the search a secret from him. Seemed blindsided, and almost unsure of whether or not Tony was outright fucking with him. He hadn't come right out and said it, but Tony could see that Steve actually doubted his motives, and that had _hurt_. 

So, of course, Tony had made some flippant remark, and grabbed the scotch intending to refill his drink, only to have Steve lash out, knocking the bottle aside, his chest heaving. Tony had been so distracted by the wild, raw panic in Steve’s eyes that he’d just ignored the bottle as it rolled across the floor before eventually finding its way under the couch.

When he finally spoke again, it hadn’t been to apologize for hurting Tony’s hand, or potentially murdering half a bottle of exceptional scotch. Steve had sounded like a terrified child in need of reassurance.

_What if he hates me, Tony?_

James hadn’t, but Tony had hated himself a little that night for how good it had felt to hold Steve Rogers as he cried over what the world had done to his best friend. But that was a long time ago. A lifetime ago.

“It’s almost like it happened to different people.”

“We’re the same,” Steve answered readily. 

He sounded so damn sure of himself. Tony had always loved the way Steve could do that, just go all in with his stubbornness, and somehow sound like a shining beacon of hope while doing it. Tony suspected he came off sounding like a mad scientist when he did the same thing.

“Are we?” It wasn’t him being a smart ass, and Steve knew it. Tony shifted around so he could see Steve better, and had that sinking, wonderful, awful feeling again. “I’m not so sure.”

Steve’s smile was tenuous, but genuine. “All the important parts are the same.”

“I’ll drink to that,” Tony said, surprised when Steve laughed, a real smile finally finding its way onto his face. 

His surprise only grew when Steve leaned in closer, resting his head against Tony’s shoulder. Some more shifting and repositioning had the bottle back under the couch, and Tony’s arm around Steve, and that was even better.

“How you doing, kiddo?” he asked, pressing a kiss to the top of Steve’s head.

Steve sighed. “Readjusting," he said eventually, voice vibrating through Tony's body. "I almost went to the wrong floor."

"And then you had to dress yourself and everything." Steve chuckled again. "So, how much do you really remember?"

Steve tensed beside him, but only for a moment. "All the important parts," he said, and Tony's chest felt tight all over again. "Everything you said to me. Feeling loved and safe."

Tony swallowed around his heart, which was suddenly in his throat where it didn't belong. "Did it help?"

Steve exhaled, long and shaky, and when he spoke, he sounded almost surprised. "Yeah, actually. It did."

"I'm sorry."

"You're sorry that you helped me?" Steve asked, shifting upright so he could see Tony again. He was smiling, and it was contagious. "Tony, come on." Steve gave him a little shove. "Some hacks messed up their magic bomb. That wasn't your fault. And guess what? My feelings aren't, either. We just... It wasn't meant to be."

Tony sighed, opened his mouth, feeling the need to argue the point, but Steve just kept going. "I don't regret loving you, Tony. I'd _never_ change that."

Which was probably a stupid reason to start crying, but it wasn't like he had a choice. Steve pulled him into a hug, Tony tucked up under his chin. Tony wondered how real parents coped with their their kids growing up, if it ever actually felt normal when they were suddenly big enough to do something like reverse the comforting roles on you. He supposed most people had time to gradually get used to it. 

“Hey, have I ever bored you to tears with the whole multiverse theory?"

Steve laughed, the vibrations working through Tony's chest, leaving him smiling despite himself. "I don't think so, no."

Tony extracted himself from Steve's embrace, clearing his throat. "Right, long story short, there are alternate universes out there existing alongside our own. Some of them are just like ours, with subtle differences, while others are completely batshit bananacakes crazy."

"Okay," Steve answered hesitantly, his brows drawn together.

"Now, the tiniest thing could cause a divergent timeline, and there's an infinite number of them according to the theory."

Steve looked thoughtful, and maybe even a little disturbed. "So, there's probably a universe where I never got defrosted."

"Right," Tony agreed, clapping his hands together. "Shit, there are probably universes where the serum killed you, or you never met Erskine, or where I died in Afghanistan and..."

"Yeah, I get it, Tony," Steve interrupted, smiling indulgently, even though pain had flashed across his face at the mention of Tony dying. "I just don't get why we're talking about it."

"Ah, well, my little patriotic cupcake, use your imagination. You and I—the you and I that are us, I mean—maybe _we_ weren't meant to be, but that doesn't necessarily hold true for other Tonys and Steves."

Steve's smile grew, until he was shaking his head, watching Tony from the corner of his eye. "So, right now, somewhere else, there's another Tony Stark and another Steve Rogers."

"Guessing lots of them. Statistically speaking, some of them got it right. Maybe they're even sitting on another version of this couch, in love, and together, and happy. Hell, maybe lots of them are. We could be the anomaly, really."

"Huh." Steve seemed equal parts disturbed and comforted. "Maybe another Steve knew the moment when it came. Took a chance."

"Yup. And maybe some other Tony wasn't so hung up on hating himself that he was able to recognize love when it was staring him right in the face."

Steve ducked his head a little. "Is it weird that in this scenario I feel sorry for the other versions of Bucky?"

"No." Tony's heart lurched. "No. Thought about that, too. Guessing there are universes where we don't even know each other. Or where he hates me. Or... or where I made a mess of things? I think about that one a lot, actually. Kind of hard to imagine life without him."

"That's because you're good together," Steve said with a smile. He sighed, stared down at his hands. "You know, I used to have this list I kept in my head, of things I would do differently, or try to change." He sounded amused with himself. "Never know when you might have a chance to time travel."

"C'mon." Tony snorted. "Everyone has that list."

"Sure, Tony, but our lives are so crazy that we might _actually_ have an opportunity to do it someday."

Steve stared into his eyes, then kept right on looking, the silence stretching out between them. It should have been terrifying, but Steve seemed so oddly at peace that Tony couldn't muster the appropriate fear response.

"My list was long for awhile. Probably says something about me that I didn't want to undo the war, or change much of anything, except for you and me and all the ways I got it wrong."

"Hey..."

Steve smiled and placed his hand over Tony's mouth, which was sort of ridiculous. Tony licked his palm, watched Steve’s face scrunch up as he pulled his hand back and wiped it dry on his shirt.

"Real mature."

"Conversations go both ways, Cap, you can't just gag the other party."

Steve rolled his eyes, and Tony wanted to kiss him. Emotionally exhausting or no, it was just so damned good to be able to talk to him again. He hadn't been lying about missing the man. 

"I wouldn't have to resort to extreme measures if you'd let me finish a sentence without interrupting to insist I did everything right and you did everything wrong."

Tony's disbelief must have been all over his face based on the little triumphant smile Steve was wearing. That had been exactly what Tony had intended to do.

"That's Howard talking."

Tony swallowed past the strange panic that came from hearing Steve say his father’s name. "Yeah. Trying to work on that. You know how it is; can't disassemble Rome in a day."

Steve nodded. “Howard is the only thing left on my list, Tony. Selfishly, I wouldn’t even try to change the way he treated you. Everything he did left a mark, and those are the things that make us who we are.” Steve shrugged. “And I love who you are.”

Tony sucked in a painful breath at this, and not just because of the fractured rib. He wasn’t sure he’d ever really get used to Steve saying things like that, no matter how much he worked on his daddy issues.

“Still want to sock him in the jaw, though.”

Steve looked so damned serious about it, so of course it was only a matter of moments before they were both cracking up.

“Ow,” Tony wheezed, holding his side as he struggled to stop laughing. “Not fair, Steve.”

“Sorry.” Steve sighed, slouching back against the couch again, wiping at the corners of his eyes. “Bucky’d hold him for me while I did it.”

“Might have to fight him for the first shot,” Tony added, running a hand over his face. “He was going to grab you, which is why I headed down here. You two talked?”

“Yeah,” Steve said, sounding a little sad.

“That good, huh?”

“You know how it is.” Steve shrugged his shoulders. “I wanted him to be angry at me.”

“So he blew your mind by just accepting it all instead?”

Steve smiled at this. “Pretty much. You know Bucky."

“Yeah. He’s gotten me with that once or twice.”

“From what he said it wasn’t exactly easy for him, taking over for me.”

Tony sighed, rubbing absently at his side as if that could lessen the pain. “Wasn’t easy for either of us. We were right about him, being the person for the job but... Just don’t make him do it again anytime soon.”

“How good did he look in the uniform?” Steve asked, knocking his shoulder against Tony’s. “Bucky wasn’t just _wearing_ it.”

Tony thought of the anguish, the outrage, that had been on James’s face when he’d first put on the uniform. Thought of him earlier in the day, out in the field. Steve was right—he’d taken to the role in a way few others could have. Tony had a feeling James had needed to know that about himself, that he wasn’t just Bucky Barnes or the Winter Soldier. That he was _worthy_ of being Captain America.

“No. No, he wasn’t,” Tony agreed, smiling despite himself.

“Told him I’d be proud to follow him, if he wanted to keep it.” Steve sighed, scrubbed a hand through his hair. “He threw the shield at me.”

“Sounds about right.”

Steve cleared his throat. "I get to be his best man at your wedding."

Tony hung his head, not sure why he wanted to cry again. "You're okay with that?"

"Are you kidding? I'm more than okay with it, Tony. I'm looking forward to it."

"If you're suppressing more shit," Tony began, sounding surprisingly outraged.

"Tony, stop," Steve begged, grabbing hold of his hands. "Before? Sure. I still would have done it, and I'd still have been happy for the two of you, but yes, it would have hurt. More than hurt."

Tony studied his face as Steve tried to find the words he needed, that odd urge to smooth his hair and bounce him on his hip showing up again.

"Okay. So, admittedly, I still love you," Steve said, smiling. "But it's... It's different. It's a hell of a lot different. It doesn't hurt the way it used to. Uh, the physical attraction part isn't, um... Let's just say, anything like that would feel _incredibly_ inappropriate now."

Tony stared at him for a moment, and gave into his weird residual parenting urge, smoothed the hair back on Steve's head, and smiled.

"It's because I've been changing your diapers, isn't it?"

Steve turned incredibly pink, and ducked his head. "Yes, actually," he answered dryly, giving Tony a pointed look. "Thanks for that, by the way."

Tony chuckled, and shrugged, but his heart was pounding away like he was in the middle of a warzone. "Was... Was that okay?" he asked, lowering his eyes, scared to see the answer before Steve gave it. "Not the diaper bit specifically, but..."

"Tony," and he had to look up, because Steve's voice cracked, and there he was looking all vulnerable again. Looking just like that little boy Tony had fallen so very much in love with. "Tony, it was— _you_ were—amazing." Steve swallowed, and suddenly there were tears in his eyes. "I don't know if I can even explain how... how much I needed that. How _wonderful_ it was."

Tony yanked him into a hug despite the agony it caused him, his side screaming in protest. It was worth it though. "This was easier when you were smaller," he said against the top of Steve's head.

"Yeah." Steve shifted so Tony wouldn't have to hold as much of his weight. "You, um, you were right. About the loneliness I was feeling. I'm going to use that code word one of these days."

"Anytime, anywhere," Tony swore, stroking Steve's back. "Halfway around the world if I need to."

"You and Bucky," Steve said, sitting back up. "Thank you for that. For taking such good care of me. I didn't want to stop being yours."

"You're still ours," Tony said, and it was true. "I might not ever get over that, you know. You kind of fucked my head up, Steve." He felt awful for saying it once he saw the effect it had on his friend. "No, stop, just wait a second." He took a deep, painful breath, and swallowed around the lump in his throat. "It was worth it. It was absolutely worth it, Steve. I'm pretty sure I needed it, too."

Tony chewed on his lip, and looked around the workshop. "I haven't been back upstairs, yet. Still, ah, still trying to cope with the idea of packing away all your clothes, and toys, and... and dismantling that life."

"Tony..."

"C'mon, cupcake, fair's fair. Let me get this out. Shit." Tony squeezed his eyes shut for a minute, then let himself sink back against the couch. "I don't think I _want_ to get over loving that little version of you. I liked being your mom. Might keep doing it, actually."

"You're good at it," Steve said, taking one of Tony's hands in his. "Both of you are. I couldn't have asked for better."

Tony squeezed Steve's hand, stared at his fingers, remembering when they were much smaller. He'd held Steve's entire hand within his palm. Had wiped little fingers clean of paint and food and watched them grab hold of little duckies in the bathtub.

"I tried to give you everything I never had," Tony said eventually. "Scared the shit out of me at first, but... I loved every minute of taking care of you."

"You should give it a go for real."

Tony looked up at this, but Steve was very much serious. "Seems sort of selfish, doesn't it? Bringing a kid into all this."

"What we do, how we live? It might be crazy, but it's no crazier than the rest of the world, Tony."

Which was true enough, but still. It was too soon, everything was too raw to even consider the possibility.

"Maybe."

"I'm sorry," Steve said, squeezing Tony's hand almost painfully.

"Like I said, I think I needed it. There were things James needed to know, or maybe that I needed to let go of, and... Yeah, I don't think I'd have done any of that otherwise."

"Letting go isn't something I've ever been particularly good at," Steve admitted.

"Think I said the same thing about myself," Tony answered, smiling. He looked over at Steve, felt awash in love and appreciation. Maybe letting go could be okay, as long as you had good people around to catch you. 

"What are you going to do now that you're all grown up?"

Steve shrugged. "I was thinking of growing a beard, actually."

Tony laughed again, wincing at the stabbing pain, but having trouble caring. "As long as you look good for the wedding photos. You need to bring a date, by the way. No going stag. And no platonic dates accepted."

Steve arched an eyebrow, then looked incredulous. "You're serious."

"Dead serious, sweetums. There's going to be dancing, Steve, and drinking, and people feeling romantic." Steve opened and closed his mouth a couple times, before shifting a bit, and scratching the back of his neck. Tony nudged his shoulder. "Take a chance on someone."

"This is a mom thing, isn't it?"

"Damn straight. If you don't pick someone, I'll pick for you. Any idea how much Darcy would pay for a shot at that ass?"

Steve burst out laughing, his head thrown back a bit as he let himself rock against Tony on the couch. Tony had come to the conclusion that this Steve Rogers was far and away quicker to laughter than the prior incarnation. Tony could see the difference shining in this Steve’s eyes, and a very proud parent part of him wanted to shout, “I did that! I fixed him.”

"Okay, okay. I'll take a chance. Please don't call Darcy."

"Deal." Tony continued to study Steve's relaxed features, and felt warmth settle over him. "You have someone specific in mind!"

Steve's mouth hung open before snapping shut again. "I don't know how I feel about you having mom powers."

"Pfft, about time I had some sort of superpower." Tony hoped Steve was thinking of who _he_ was thinking of, and if he wasn't then some serious meddling was definitely going to be in order. "Steve?"

"Yeah?"

Tony bit down hard on his lower lip. "Thank you. For coming back. I don't know what I'd do if I lost you."

"I hope neither of us ever has to go through that," Steve said, his eyes bright with unshed tears. "But whatever happens, Tony, just know that it's been an honor, calling you my friend."

Tony smiled, because really. Who would have thunk it? Certainly not his father. Certainly not that sad, lonely little boy he'd been once upon a time. Even the man he'd been a couple of years ago would never have dreamed this was where his life was leading him.

James was upstairs, waiting for him. Tony would go to him, and pull him into his arms, and tell him how much he loved him. Was going to spend the rest of his life with James. He had a real family, friends, could sit shoulder to shoulder with Captain America—with Steve Rogers—and know he deserved to be there.

"The honor has been all mine, Steve. Love you."

Steve grinned, kicked his feet out in front of him. "Love you, too, Tony."

"Hey, ah. Is there anything you wanted to keep? From upstairs, I mean."

Steve smiled. "You know, I sort of want that Captain America onesie Pepper tried to shove me into."

Tony hurt himself laughing again. "You're a sick man, Steve Rogers. I'll frame it for you."

"Heading up to see Bucky?"

Steve already knew the answer, since he got to his feet and helped Tony up.

"Yeah. I've kept him waiting too long."

They shuffled into the elevator together, Tony feeling lighter than he had when he'd headed to the workshop. Lighter than he had in ages.

"Could you send me some of the photos, too?" Steve asked as they stopped on his floor.

"I'm making you a whole album, baby."

Steve ducked his head, then leaned over and surprised Tony with a kiss to the cheek. "Tell dad I said goodnight."

"Yup. Will do."

Tony watched Steve walk down the hallway, counted down until he turned and looked over his shoulder, smiling and waving. Tony waved back, thinking of the little boy he'd left in Sam's arms earlier that day, aching with happiness and loss.

Counting down from ten, Tony let go. Just a little. Just enough. Tony leaned back and smiled at his reflection; he liked who he saw there, smiling back at him.

"Take me home, J."

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> So, there we have it. The end of _Regression Analysis_. But... the reason I'm posting this ahead of schedule is that I'm hoping to have a special post-RA Mother's Day short for you all to enjoy tomorrow! *evil laughter*
> 
> I say it a lot, but I really, really appreciate every last one of you who has commented along the way while this has been posted. I'm addicted to you all. I sneak in to look at my inbox when my day is feeling long and miserable, and then see your love and it just brightens my day in a crazy way.
> 
> I hope everyone feels good about where Steve and Tony are now, together, and also... Even STEVE wants you to be a daddy! You have no choice, Tony. Do it. I act like I'm not in charge?
> 
> Ugh, I'm so happy and so sad at the same time. Onto the next adventure with Bucky and his Antoshka!

**Author's Note:**

> You can find me on tumblr here: http://dezinformatsia.tumblr.com/ and all of my Imagine Tony & Bucky fills can be found here: http://imaginetonyandbucky.tumblr.com/tagged/dezinformatsia


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